At Your Service
by SnowPrincessEiry
Summary: When I applied to a nanny position online, I never expected to be a prisoner in the massive Heelshire manor, and a servant to the porcelain doll, Brahms. It couldn't get any worse can it?
1. Story Breakdown

**Story Breakdown**

 **DISCLAIMER  
**

-I DO NOT own _The Boy_ , it's characters, or it's storyline. _The Boy_ was directed by William Brent Bell, and written by Stacey Daley.  
-I DO NOT own any of the music featured in my fanfictions. The lyrics/music belongs to their respected artists.

 **OWNERSHIP CLAIM**

-I DO own Veronica "Ronnie" Stone, her story, and her concept.  
-I DO own the cover images to my fanfictions; be them edits or drawings. Be respectful to my art and edits, and DO NOT steal them.

 **STORY INFORMATION**

-This story will run similarly to the movie, only Ronnie is replacing Greta, thus changing how the past connects to the present. Things will, obviously, be changed to make it more interesting. I hope...  
-Brahms will have even more of a yandere persona. More controlling, more obsessive/possessive, more violent, and more lustful. However, he will also have the bipolar like characteristic where he is sweet, charming, childlike innocent, and playful.  
- _ **Bold-italic**_ phrases will indicate Ronnie's thoughts or the thoughts of others while in their point of view. _Italic_ phrases will indicate a sound being made.  Underlined phrases will indicate the title of a movie, TV show, etc. When you see "..." it means that the point-of-view has shifted.  
-All of the music featured in this story will be credited up top in the author's notes. The song representing the story is "The Phantom of the Opera" by Sarah Brightman and Michael Crawford from the _The Phantom of the Opera_ Broadway performance.

 **CHARACTER INFORMATION**

 **Name:** Veronica "Ronnie" Stone  
I prefer to be called "Ronnie". Why? Because a, Veronica will attract unwanted attention from a phantom of my past, and b, my tomboyish fashion help unwarranted attention from the opposite gender.  
 **Age:** 25  
 **Hair:** Deep Mahogany; Pixie Cut.  
 **Eyes:** Crystal Blue  
 **Gender:** Female  
 **Family...  
** **1:** Bianca Lupei - Mother, Deceased; Alex Lupei - Father  
Did you know that sometimes memories stay etched into your memory, even if you were an toddler? Well, when I was three years old, I watched my father murder my mother. Why? Because she was getting old. How a beautiful woman at the age of thirty-two be considered old is beyond me. It was a mystery until I was about seven. Every day from my fourth birthday, father would beat me. Why would someone beat a four year old? I'd cry or scream at him to stop his other abuse, the kind of a inappropriate manner. You can bet your asses that my past with him affects me, even to today. When I was eight, we were watching gypsies perform at the fair, and, when father lead me away to do what he wished, I was saved by the ring leader. He grabbed me and whisked me away.  
 **2:** Andre Dalca and Cosmina Dalca - Foster Parents; Eliza Bensley - Sister-Figure  
When Andre and Cosmina took me in, I finally saw what family was. However, because of the years of abuse, every time they would express physical affection, or even touch me, I'd flinch and start screaming. It took me years, and though I still struggle with my PTSD, I am able to deal with physical contact, albeit vaguely. We would be on the run constantly because the clan of gypsies would encounter issues from the authorities, no doubt because of father. When I turned nineteen, I knew it was time to leave. All of their lives had been put in danger time and time again, and it was my fault, regardless of how Andre and Cosmina would debate it. With their combined efforts, I was able to leave to America. It was hard making it there, the "Land of the Free" because I wasn't a legal citizen. I would tell fortunes, something gypsies were accustomed to, and when I wasn't doing that, I would sing or dance in the streets where I didn't need a permit and it was legal. After some time, I was hired at a place called "Cabana Mystica", which specialized in magic paraphernalia and fortune-telling. I gained a very good friend, almost like a sister, named Eliza Bensley, who is a very passionate person about magic and miracles, but is also a lesbian with a passion for equal rights. On my 25th birthday, we both received news that the manager of the store was retiring and left the popular business in our hands. However, as my citizenship was just approved, I couldn't be the owner, so I continued to work there as a simple employee. Just as things were settling and going right, I received an email from an International Nanny organization I had joined, they were looking for a promising candidate for a family of three in the UK, the Heelshires. They were looking for a woman who would take care of their son while they left for a trip. I accepted their proposal to be interviewed, and by pulling money together, I paid for my flight and left the next morning.  
 **Personality:** Maternal/motherly, gentle, kind, slightly OCD-ish, awkward around strangers, anxious around abusive personalities, and a stickler for rules.  
 **Distinguishing Marks or Features:** I have scars on my wrists from my father, when he'd handcuff me to a chair or the bed, for either his sexual gratification, or to punish me. I also have internal scarring from when he'd sexually abuse me; not that they can be seen, they can only be talked about or learned about.


	2. The New Nanny

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**  
-I DO NOT own _The Boy_ , it's characters, or it's storyline. _The Boy_ was directed by William Brent Bell, and written by Stacey Daley. I DO NOT own any of the music featured in my fanfictions. The lyrics/music belongs to their respected artists. I DO own Veronica "Ronnie" Stone, her story, and her concept. I DO own the cover images to my fanfictions; be them edits or drawings. Be respectful to my art and edits, and DO NOT steal them.  
- _ **Bold-italic**_ phrases will indicate Ronnie's thoughts or the thoughts of others while in their point of view. _Italic_ phrases will indicate a sound being made.  Underlined phrases will indicate the title of a movie, TV show, etc. When you see "..." it means that the point-of-view has shifted.  
-The song representing the story is "The Phantom of the Opera" by Sarah Brightman and Michael Crawford from the _The Phantom of the Opera_ Broadway performance.  
-"Ce va fi va fi" is Romanian for "whatever will be will be."

* * *

 **1.) The New Nanny  
** ***  
Sing once again with me, our strange duet. My power over you, grows stronger yet. You'll give your love to me, for love is blind. The phantom of the opera is now your mastermind.  
***

The flight was choppy and long, and the drive was pretty much the same. With the bumpy European roads we took, and the lack of sleep, I found myself nodding off. Every now and then I'd open my eyes and see the driver stare at me. _**This is a**_ _ **wkward...**_ Though my gender was hidden beneath my clothes, it was still uncomfortable, so I shoved my head into my arm, which was now against the window, and tried to sleep that way. Let me tell you, that was uncomfortable as hell, but I did drift off. I heard several loud _tap_ sounds and my head shot up, my mind and eyes alert. I saw the old driver at the window, tapping to wake me up. "Apologies, miss," His tone sounded bored, but I couldn't be mad at that. It was a long ride, and he had to haul a stranger out this far only to have to have to make the trek back to his home. "I didn't know how else to wake you." I nodded to him before rubbing my eyes from beneath my sunglasses, and climbed out of the car when he pulled open the door. I intertwined my fingers and pushed them up above my head, causing my shoulders and back to release a pleasantly disturbing _crack_ sound. "The Heelshires had to step out a moment. They beg your pardon, miss, and they ask that you wait out in the parlor." As soon as my eyes opened from my stretch my jaw dropped at the beautifully haunting mansion. It appeared to be a Victorian Era, if not slightly older, manor; huge, spacious, and pretty old fashioned looking. I reached into my bag to pull out some money for his troubles only to have him stop me. "Oh, the Heelshires already took care of that, and I put your things inside."

"Thank you." I spoke finally. It's not that I didn't want this gentleman to know I was female, it's just up til now, there weren't many words between us. He seemed genuinely thrown off at the reality but I simply smiled before I pulled off my sunglasses. I put my wallet back into my bag and walked up to the lovely wooden doors. I pushed them open, earning a _creak_ , not that I expected anything different. The mansion appeared much larger inside; instead of a mansion, it appeared to be a castle with all the room. Instinctively, I pulled off my converse and put them near the door; a habit hammered into me from my past. I pulled off my shoulder bag and put it down beside them. I noticed the more recent lamps hanging in the entrance hallway. In my line of vision was an entry way leading into a study - I assume - and an open space which lead me further into the massive house. At the end of the hall, I saw stairs that lead to the second floor and just stood there flabbergasted. "Woah..." I breathed at the sheer classic beauty. The one thing that creeped me out, however, was the taxidermied ram head hanging on the wall. _**Something**_ _ **I'll never understand...**_ I thought with a shake of my head. Curiosity got the better of me and I approached the stairs. "Mr. and Mrs. Heelshire?" I took my first couple steps upward. "Hello?" When I reached the top, I saw a large painted portrait of three people. A man, a woman, and a young boy. The man stood tall behind the woman, the woman stood comfortably in front of him, and the boy stood with his hand in the woman's. Being in such a large place, I felt pretty small, and my anxious paranoia began to build when I had the feeling someone was watching me. I hugged my arms before I turned around. Nothing. Not a soul in sight. I quickly ventured towards the second set of stairs leading to the third level, and walked to a hallway that lead to a handful of rooms. "Is anyone up here?" I pressed on, halting at the first room. It was a room built for a child, albeit huge in size. There were toys put atop of a shelf, and they weren't normal toys, either, they were almost antique-ish. "This must be Brahms' room..." My voice trailed as I walked around, taking in the pieces and memorizing the locations - oh yeah, I have a photogenic memory; I remember almost everything I see, though this also ties into my OCD-like personality. I walked over to the bed-side table and saw an elegant red violin. I gently stroke one of the lines, causing a short simple sound come from it. I turned around and smiled at one of the old fashioned toys. A teddy bear. I smiled and picked it up, enjoying the plush feel of the body. I felt so calm and at ease as I stroked its fur.

"Hi there." Came a voice from behind me. My heart jumped to my throat, my blood ran cold, and a gasp left my lips. This person also caused me to drop the teddy bear. "Sorry," I turned and saw a young man around my age. "Believe it or not, I was actually trying not to scare you." A smile was holding in his voice.

"No, it's fine." I muttered as I leaned over to pick up the bear. "I'm just a meek little mouse is all." I giggled before putting the bear back in it's place, adjusting it the way it was prior to my touch. I turned around and looked at him. He had short dark hair that appeared to be pushed aside with the assistance of fingers, though a couple bundles of hair escaped. He had deep brown eyes, at least I think they were brown... He wore a black coat over-top of a black sweater and grey undershirt.

"Right." He said with a smile.

"Sorry, I'm quite squirrel-y." I laughed once more. "Are you Mr. Heelshire?"

"No."

"I know you're not, but... Yeah..." I felt awkward, but more so foolish. "Had to ask." **_Idiot._**

"I'm the grocery boy." I tilted my head at his word choice. _**Grocery boy?**_ "Well, grocery man." I nodded awkwardly, to which he did as well. "I own the shop. OK, well, I'm Malcolm, by the way." He held out his hand. I took it, obviously.

"Hi." Our hands shook.

"You must be here for the nanny job." Malcolm assumed.

"Yeah." I nodded, confirming his assumption. "Ronnie Stone." He lifted a brow curiously but shrugged it off.

"I've got some groceries to unpack downstairs, wanna join me? I could give you a tour of the exotic locations." He looked upward in thought. "Uh, as the pantry, bread bin, does that interest you?" I smiled at how goofy this man was.

"That'd be great. Sure." I nodded. "Lead the way." I gestured to tell him to lead me around this large estate. Once we arrived in the kitchen, I awaited his instruction. _**The best way to learn is by doing.**_ I thought with a nod. I reached into the produce box and pulled out the oranges, placing them in the bow designated for them.

"You're American, yeah?" Malcolm asked as he put stuff in the pantry.

"Not technically, no. I'm... Well, I'm trying to find 'home', you know?" I grabbed the carrots. "This is my first time in the UK." I admitted honestly. I had only been in Romania and parts of Russia when I lived with my gypsy family.

"Alright, let me guess..." Malcolm's eyes were on me, judging me. "California, right?" I shook my head with a smile. I gathered all of the carrots and went to put them in their spot. There was a basket on the counter which I assume was left for vegetables.

"New Orleans, actually." I corrected with a Cheshire Cat-like grin. "Here OK?" I wondered as I gestured to the basket.

"Yeah, goes in the basket." He confirmed as he pointed to it. "I'm usually good at these things; I've got a touch with a gift." I raised my eyebrow at him.

"A gift?" I repeated questionably.

"Prognosticated, clairvoyant, whatever you'd like to call it; I had a grandmother who read tea leaves, my mother read palms." I was amused by his words. As a legit palm-reading fortune-telling gypsy, I find amusement when people claim to have a 'gift' like those.

"OK," _**Let's test his 'gift'**_ _ **, shall we?**_ "What do you read?" I inquired tilting my head towards him in a 'nudge nudge' like way.

"Me?"

"Yeah."

"Uh," Our eyes met. He could see my challenging intent behind my gaze. "Chewing gum." I snorted but bit back my laughter.

"OK." My dark amusement hid behind my tone and I ended up caving to my laughter.

"We don't get to choose our gifts, Ms. Stone." He said with a smile. "Come on," He walked around the island and stood beside me. "If you'll allow me." He held out his hand for the piece of gum I occasionally chewed, beginning after I left the child's room. "Don't be shy."

"Allow you to read my - "

"Gum. Yes." Malcolm answered simply. "I'm a professional." I had to bite my tongue to keep me from laughing again. "Trust me." I half rolled my eyes.

"OK." I pulled out my piece of gum and placed it in his palm.

"Alright." His eyes were on the wad of chewing gum in his hand. He made interesting grunts and sounds. "Interesting teeth marks." He complimented, earning a full roll of my eyes. "I see that you're a writer from Phoenix, Montana." He squinted at me. He knew he was wrong, just couldn't man up and admit it. "Looks like you came here to be inspired by the English countryside, to get away from the hustle and bustle of your life in the US of A." _**Not even close.**_

"No." I shook my head. Then again, he knew he was off, he just didn't know he wasn't anywhere close to being right.

"Close?" He assumed questionably with a tilt of his head.

"Not at all." I replied honestly.

"OK, one more try?" Those puppy dog eyes, man! I rolled my eyes once more. "Just one." His eyes fell back on the piece of chewed bubble gum. "Ah, OK. I see where we went wrong." I shook my head.

"We?" I questioned with a raised eyebrow. He simply flashed me a smile in response.

"It's very clear now." His eyes lifted from the chewy confection. "I see a dark past. On the run from somebody. That's what it looks like." His brown eyes were now on me. I became still as my memories of father flashed behind my eyes. _**Let it go, Ronnie.**_

"I should get rid of that now." I said before I grabbed the gum and went to toss it out.

"I'm afraid that was my best attempt at flirting." I tilted my head. "Believe it or not, I'm actually considered charming in this country." I smiled vaguely.

"I bet you are." I rummaged for more groceries.

"It's amazing any if us procreate at all, really." I chuckled at his comment.

"Bread?" I inquired as I held the loaf up.

"Yeah. In the cupboard there." He pointed behind me. I turned and put it in the bread bin behind me.

"So," My voice trailed awkwardly. "What's the family like?" He drew a deep breath and looked at me.

"Well, they're nice, you know?" He nodded. "They're generous. As good a people you'd ever like to meet." He was holding something back, I could see it in the way he shuffled his feet.

"And the son?" I asked curiously. "Brahms?"

"Brahms," He repeated. "Oh, he's, um, uh," He struggled to find the words. _**Is he that bad of a child?**_ I wondered. "I'm not sure quite how to explain everything." He straightened his posture when heeled shoes were heard approaching us. A woman resembling the one in the painting, only years older, drew close me. She wore a dual pearl necklace, magenta cardigan with a white blouse underneath, and a pin-striped needle, flannel-like dress.

"Mrs. Heelshire," Her eyes fell to my feet only for them to quickly to my face. "It's so nice to finally meet you." I greeted with a warm smile. However, her face was as cold as stone, though she seemed to try and show some kind of an expression. She forced a smile.

"Where are your shoes?" She asked suddenly. My mind wandered. _**My shoes...?**_ I struggled to find words. That was not an expected question. "No matter, follow me." I nodded and followed the older woman. She lead me out of the kitchen and back towards the front door. "Brahms is very excited to meet you, Ms. Stone." She spoke. "He's never met an American before." I wanted to let her know about my citizenship-related situation, but decided not to.

"And I'm excited to meet him, too." I smiled warmly. I loved children and one day hoped to have my own, but with my trust issues and PTSD situation, that may not prove well. I looked down to my bag and noticed my shoes were gone. "I'm sure I left them here..." I muttered before running my hand through my hair.

"They'll turn up." Ms. Heelshire reassured. "It's Brahms, he can be playful." She stated. "I assume you brought other shoes." I looked back at her.

"Yes, ma'am, I did." I reached into my bag and pulled out my slip-on converse.

"Let's hurry up, we've kept them waiting long enough." I zipped my bag shut and followed her to the study. When we approached a study-looking room, I heard the mutterings of an older man, undoubtedly Mr. Heelshire. "Daddy." She said as she walked into the room. And older version of the painted man stood, with the help of the chair. He turned and faced me. He wore a dark blue, or dark teal, suit jacket with a black tie, a dark vest, a white button up top, and lighter pants. "Ms. Stone allow me to introduce Mr. Heelshire." Mrs. Heelshire lifted her hand and indicated that the man was Mr. Heelshire, as I already figured. I bowed my head and smiled.

"Ms. Stone." He repeated.

"And this," Both Heelshires moved aside. "This is our son, Brahms." When the boy in the chair was revealed, well, he wasn't a real boy, but a porcelain doll. I felt my body stiffen and my heartbeat quicken. _**He has to be a porcelain doll because, heaven forbid, he was a dummy or something...**_ The doll's head was turned to face my direction. His hair was dark, like the painting only a tad darker, and his eyes were hazelnut, just like the portrait, only empty and cold.

"So you've met Brahms?" Came Malcolm's voice. I turned to look at him. He seemed uncomfortable even though this isn't his first day. "How are you doing Brahms?" He walked over to the doll in the chair. He leaned over and grabbed the small porcelain hand, shaking it. "Now, you take it easy on Ms. Stone. She's traveled a long way just to meet you." He commented before looking back towards me. "I'll be off then." He said as he straightened upright and faced the Heelshires. "The bill's on the table." They exchanged nods. "Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Stone. Hope to see you on my next delivery."

"Thank you, Malcolm." Mrs. Heelshire spoke.

"'Course." My eyes moved from the doll to the parents. _**Is this like a** **Dead Silence** **-like thing?**_ Those who haven't seen  Dead Silence it's a horror movie with the main antagonist portrayed as a ventriloquist, Mary Shaw, who's favorite vessel was her 'son', Billy. There's a poem in it where this would seem awfully similar to this predicament: 'she had no children only dolls', the only difference is there are two people and only one doll. Both parents' eyes were on me as if to encourage a response. Whatever the situation was, I didn't wanna end up with my tongue ripped out, or find myself in some kind of horrific crime, so I decided to play along. As a gypsy from Romania, especially Transylvania, I'm not a skeptic; quite the opposite, really. I believe in the supernatural, but I don't sense anything supernatural here. Regardless, I took a calming breath and approached the chair, kneeling down before the porcelain doll.

"It's nice to meet you, Brahms." I spoke gently, a warm smile creeping across my lips. My hand gently took hold of the doll's hand and gave it a small shake. "I'm Veronica, but you can call me Ronnie." I didn't get a response from him at all. "I hope that we can be friends." My demeanor never changed, even though I was talking to a seemingly inanimate and dead doll. I looked up to the Heelshires and they simply nodded.

"Daddy, can you take Ms. Stone's things up to her room please?" I stood. "Ms. Stone, we might as well get started. I have a lot to show you." She walked in front of me, grabbing the doll. Once more we were headed to the stairs. "You'll be all alone out here, you think you can manage?"

"I have no problem with that." I claimed from behind her. _**I mean, how hard could it be?**_

"We've had a number of potential nannies come through already, but Brahms has rejected them all." I tilted my head with the woman's back turned to me. My eyes focused on the doll. _**How?**_ I shook my head. "Though they weren't nearly as young or as..." She paused before turning to me briefly as we reached the third floor. "Pretty as you." She turned forward and lead me to the child's room I had entered earlier today. When we entered, she undressed the doll, and put him in pajamas. She sat on the bed with the doll. "You will wake him at seven o'clock each morning and you will dress him." Her tone indicated that she wanted no debate. I nodded my head when her eyes were on me. "You will find clean clothes behind you." I turned my head and found his clean dapper clothes placed atop the table. I picked them up and brought them towards the bed. She leaned over and placed the Brahms doll on the bed.

"So I should - " I nodded towards the doll. She smiled and raised her hands.

"Wake him up and dress him, Ms. Stone." She walked behind me and stood, watching me complete the task. "There's no better way to learn than by doing." I walked up to the side of the bed and leaned over him.

"Time to wake up, Brahms." I whispered kindly.

"Well, I don't know about you, but that certainly wouldn't wake me." Mrs. Heelshire lectured. I didn't even have to look at her to know that she rolled her eyes at my action. I grabbed the doll carefully and lifted him slowly.

"It's time to get up, Brahms."

"He's not a baby." She educated once more. I narrowed my eyes distastefully, albeit briefly. _**No kidding.**_ I held the doll close to me before looking at the woman. "You need'nt be afraid of hurting him." _ **Even if he was a real boy, why the hell would I be more brash with him?**_ I placed the doll back down onto the bed and straightened out his pajamas. I heard a couple _clacks_ and Mrs. Heelshire then stood beside me. "Excuse me." I was scooted to the side. She chuckled as she lifted the doll. "Now, let's show Ms. Stone how we get you dressed. I'd let her do it herself, but I'm afraid we'd be here all day." _**As if she hadn't insulted me enough today...**_ She placed a kiss on the doll's cheek before undressing him and redressing him into the suit set aside. She then handed him to me before leading me back down to the first floor, and into what appeared to me a music and study room. "Brahms has three hours of lessons, five days a week." She said before standing in front of an empty chair with a throw pillow. "I like to start by reading some poetry. Do you know any, Ms. Stone?" I placed him down onto the chair.

"Some, not much." I answered honestly; I was more into books and music than I was into poetry. Her expression clearly indicated how unimpressed she was.

"Well, it doesn't have to be poetry of course." Mrs. Heelshire made her way towards a cabinet of books. As a literary fan, I was flabbergasted at the collection. It wasn't anything like a library, but most of them were books I hadn't read or heard of. "Any of these books will do, but you must read in a loud," Her voice got louder, only slightly though. "Clear voice." I was confused once more, but with this woman's track record of insulting my limited knowledge, I wasn't about to ask. I took the book she held and nodded.

"Yes, of course." I answered swiftly. I heard her clear her throat. As soon as I looked at her, she glanced towards the book. _**Right... Monkey say, monkey do.**_ A sigh left my lips but I wore a smile. "Yes, of course." I repeated louder and clearer.

"Excellent." She complemented with a vague smile. "Next is music appreciation." Before she said anything further we heard a small _clink_ and we saw that the doll had fallen against the edge of his chair. "Oh now, Brahms," She walked over to the doll and readjusted him. "You must sit up straight, like a good little boy." Her smile came back as she caressed his chin with her fingers. She straightened up and turned back towards me. "Music, Ms. Stone, I don't know how Brahms would go on without his music." Mrs. Heelshire walked over to the record player. "It's his world. 'Course he likes it rather louder than I prefer, but," She turned on the record player, and the record began to spin. "It gives him so much joy. I don't dare take it away from him." Then the music came. Opera. It was louder than I was normally comfortable with, however, I have blasted music in the past in order to drown out the world. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to be briefly swallowed by it's notes. Moments passed before she made her way back to the Brahms doll and picked him up. "Come now, Ms. Stone, supper should be ready." Mrs. Heelshire lead me out of the room and towards the dining room. I noted the three plates of food and single bowl of soup. I took my seat to the second seat down on Mr. Heelshire's side. Mrs. Heelshire put the doll in the chair behind the soup and placed a cloth napkin against his chest. The doll's dead eyes stared at me, as if burning into my soul, and I looked towards the Mr, who simply raised his wine glass. It was a silent meal, and I had the doll watch me the whole time. _**This is eerie as fuck.**_ I thought with a sigh. Once my plate was emptied, I followed the Mrs into the kitchen. I was headed for the garbage but she stopped me. "We don't throw any food out in this house. Ms. Stone, this is a country house." She lectured before opening the cabinet, revealing Tupperware containers. "Do you know what that means?" I narrowed my eyes. _ **Yes, but I assume you're gonna tell me anyway.**_ "It means that we are in a constant battle with the outside elements: weather, plants, vermin. Especially vermin, Ms. Stone." She placed the Tupperware down and I began to load them up. "And so we take certain measures against them." Mr. Heelshire entered the kitchen with the doll in his arms. She turned from me and reached for the doll. "Hello, darling." She spoke gently. "Mr. Heelshire will explain the rest of your duties." I nodded and smiled at the man.

"Food goes in here." He said making his way to the deep freezer. I placed them into the cold storage. "Thank you." He was much more friendly than his wife; he didn't seem so rude or stuck-up. "Now," He started as he closed the door to the freezer. "I'll show you the traps." I stared at him like an idiot. _**What kind of t**_ _ **raps?**_ He lead me outside, after grabbing his coat. "We do our best to keep up the house. Oh, by the way, we don't use the fireplace anymore." He drew a deep, heavy breath. "A bit of a hazard, and regrettably, the last tradesman we had actually," He chuckled between words. "Managed to pave the windows shut." He opened the hatch to the trap he had picked up and pulled a decent sized dead rat corpse from it. "Personally, I don't think all this is necessary." He commented dropping the dead rat into the garbage bag in my hands. "However, Mrs. Heelshire is convinced that the rats will get into the walls." Mr. Heelshire placed the trap back into it's spot. "And Brahms had never been fond of animals. He's been very shy, you see, very timid." He lead me around the area. "I know how this must look to you, and to be completely honest, I'm not sure how it all came to this. Little by little," He rolled his hands. "All at once, I suppose." He shook his head. "What I'm trying to say is whatever it may look like on the outside, our son is here." That comment alone made me feel both uncomfortable and understanding. _**There has to be some kind of story here...**_ I thought with a nod. "He's very much with us." His deep blue eyes held a look of sincerity, but also something I couldn't quite read. Nerves? Fear? "Do you understand, Ms. Stone?" His tone was low and his breathing had become shallow. The edges of my lips twitched and I smiled, placing my hand on his arm.

"Yes, I think I do.." My smile grew. "No real parent wants to live a life without their child." His eyes began to glisten as tears threatened to surface. He quickly looked away and breathed a calming breath.

"Good. Oh good. That's very good." Mr. Heelshire began to walk on. Once all the traps were emptied, we went back into the house. The Mr hung his coat and lead us to Brahms' room, back on the third floor. Mrs. Heelshire had already redressed him into his pajamas, and under the blanket. She knelt down to his side, and Mr. Heelshire knelt beside her.

"Gentle Jesus, weak and wild, look upon a gentle child. Pity my simplicity, suffer me, I come to thee. God bless mummy. God bless daddy. God bless Ronnie. God bless me." The couple recited in prayer. I smiled and appreciated that they included me in the prayer.

"You were such a good boy today, Brahmsie. You behaved like a gentleman. Mummy's so proud." The mother complimented her doll child. Mr. Heelshire lifted his knee and looked from me to his wife and back at me. "Could you give us a moment alone to speak with Brahms privately?" She requested, her gentle tone gone. I nodded and bowed my head in respect before walking turning my back away from them. I heard the door close behind me and I drew a big, deep breath.

"Hail Mary and Joseph." I sighed before crouching down and resting my head on my folded hands. "This is intense." This job, if I am to be hired, will be strenuous and more stressful than I could have previously imagined. My heart skipped a beat when I heard a muffled and unfamiliar voice from beyond the wooden door. Before I could go have a listen, the door opened and revealed Mrs. Heelshire. She stepped out of the room, soon followed by her husband. I stood and bowed my head to them.

"He wants you, Ms. Stone." She said with a slight shake of her head. "He's chosen you, if you'll have him." That was an odd way of saying 'will you take the job?'. She stepped towards me and put her arms around me. My body became stiff at the sudden change in her demeanor. She held me close to her. It seemed almost like an apologetic hug, but why? I shrugged off the buzzing questions rampaging through my mind and wrapped my arms around hers, placing my hands on her shoulder, returning her embrace. My eyes fell on the doll, whose eyes were focused on the wall ahead of his bed.

"Why don't you go get comfortable, and make yourself at home, Ms. Stone?" Mr. Heelshire's voice came. "Come now, we must start packing." Mrs. Heelshire pulled away and smiled at me. Her hand gently caressed my face before they headed towards their room. I let loose a heavy sigh. _**Well, then.**_ I stretched my arms and went towards my room. Once my clothes were packed away and in the dresser, I drew myself a bath, adding my peach scented bubble bath to the water. Once filled, I undressed and unbound my chest, and I climbed into the tub. I felt all my stress from today melt away. Some time passed before I came out. I looked down to the screen of my phone, flashing it on to see the time. _**Ten o'clock on the dot.**_ I toweled off and dressed into my white RumBelle - Rumpelstiltskin and Belle ship name from  Once Upon a Time \- t-shirt and black short shorts. I stretched my limbs and made my way towards the bed. I was to relaxed and tired to call Eliza, I'd have to tell her the news tomorrow morning. I lifted the plush sheets and jumped in, immediately becoming comfortable. I looked up to the ceiling. "Ce va fi va fi." I murmured before succumbing to slumber. No matter may what lay ahead of me, I will face it as best I could.


	3. The Malevolent Storm

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**  
-I DO NOT own _The Boy_ , it's characters, or it's storyline. _The Boy_ was directed by William Brent Bell, and written by Stacey Daley. I DO NOT own any of the music featured in my fanfictions. The lyrics/music belongs to their respected artists. I DO own Veronica "Ronnie" Stone, her story, and her concept. I DO own the cover images to my fanfictions; be them edits or drawings. Be respectful to my art and edits, and DO NOT steal them.  
- _ **Bold-italic**_ phrases will indicate Ronnie's thoughts or the thoughts of others while in their point of view. _Italic_ phrases will indicate a sound being made.  Underlined phrases will indicate the title of a movie, TV show, etc. When you see "..." it means that the point-of-view has shifted.  
-The song representing the story is "The Phantom of the Opera" by Sarah Brightman and Michael Crawford from the _The Phantom of the Opera_ Broadway performance. The song Ronnie sings is "Courageous" by Megan Nicole.

* * *

 **2.) The Malevolent Storm  
** ***  
Sing once again with me, our strange duet. My power over you, grows stronger yet. You'll give your love to me, for love is blind. The phantom of the opera is now your mastermind.  
***

I woke up to _thud_ ding in the wall. My eyes shot open, my heart seemed to stop beating, and my blood ran cold. _**It's an old house, Ronnie...**_ I tried to rationalize. The _thud_ s went away and I breathed a heavy, yet anxious, sigh of relief. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and slid my feet out of the bed stretching. I reached over to my phone and saw that the time was nearly six o'clock in the morning. I reached over to the corded phone, knowing that being where I was, there wasn't any cellphone service, and dialed Eliza's cell. _**She should be coming home from the store.**_ We were open til 11 and it took her about an hour to get home. After a few _ring_ s, she picked up. "Hello Ronnie!" She sang. I could tell she was smiling. I don't think it was hard to know it was this number, given that she doesn't know any long distance numbers. "How is it like over there?"

"I don't know, honestly." I sat back on the bed, carrying the corded phone's base with me. "This whole things is..." I paused and bit my bottom lip. "Odd." I folded my legs. "Big old house in the middle of nowhere, no neighbors, the windows are sealed shut, no cellphone service, no wifi." I fell backwards, laying atop the bed. "Not that having wifi's a big deal for me." I wasn't active on social media unless it revolved around the shop.

"That would suck." She pouted. "But you needed this. A change of scenery, an escape, especially after that phone call." I shut my eyes forcing whatever tears begged to gather. **_I don't need reminding of that._** "As selfish as I want to be, you needed this." I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling.

"I feel wrong, like I'm taking advantage of them, you know?" My voice was uneasy. What can I say? I'm sensitive and I have an overactive, overthinking brain.

"Well, you aren't. You're being paid to babysit a little boy." I bit the inside of my bottom lip.

"He's a doll, Eliza." I commented. "It almost seems like Mary Shaw's thing with her ventriloquist dummies." You see, Dead Silence was the first American horror film I watched when I arrived there, so she'd get the reference. "Only, the parents are alive and there's only one doll, and it's a porcelain." Don't let my comment deceive you, I'm not the judgmental type, I've just had a haunting - quite literally, if I must say - supernatural history with porcelain dolls.

"Yeah, that's kinda creepy," She paused to fidget with her house keys. "But it's only for a few months, right?"

"As far as I know, yeah." I answered vaguely. I myself didn't know what would be going on here; all I knew was that their initial request was for a few months while they went away on a seemingly much needed vacation.

"You can handle it." I heard the _bang_ of her house door hitting the door stopper causing me to flinch.

"This is - "

"Ronnie, hon, you need this." I glanced to the wall I had heard the _thud_ ding. "It's the safest place for you right now." My heart began to hurt at the thought of the phone call I received before applying to this job. "He won't find you there." My eyes began to water. _**If I was still there...**_ My mind wandered. I bit down onto my lip to keep myself from sniffling or sobbing into the phone. "You're going to be OK, Ronnie."

"You're right." I managed to say after a few calming breaths. I heard the clock sing telling me that I had half an hour before the Heelshires would go to wake Brahms the doll. "I have to go now. I need a shower before the day starts."

"OK, Ronnie. Take care. Love you! Miss you!" It sounded as though she hugged her phone. I couldn't fight the smile that pulled at my lips.

"Goodnight." I rested the phone on top of the base and went to go collect my fresh clothes. I pulled out a black button-up blouse, a pair of jeans, white socks, and my jean jacket. I grabbed my slippers, and went into the bathroom. I walked over to the fabric closet and pulled out a white towel. I hung it over the holder and continued on to undress. Once my pajamas were removed, I went over to the sink and looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes immediately fell to my wrists and I shut my eyes as the memories flashed before my eyes. My subconscious habit of grabbing onto the cross from mother's rosary came to play and I felt my anxiety levels drop. With a soothing breath, I made my way over to the bath-shower and began to twist the knobs so that I could adjust the temperature to my liking. Once satisfied, I entered into the shower and proceeded to clean myself, scrubbing my skin til it was red. This was a habit of mine from my days in Romania, after I was taken in by the Dalca couple. I turned off the faucet and exited the shower, drying myself off and dressing myself in the clothes I had picked out. I hung the towel up to dry and exited the bathroom. I walked across the bedroom to the dresser and ruffled my hair so that my short layers would give me the feminine look I was looking for. Why do I have short hair? Well, when I was with my gyspy family, the entertained males would pursue me to my tent and grab my hair when I walked away from them. My body became stiff when I heard _crash_ ing near by. The silence, only to have the sound occur again. I waited for them to continue, but they stopped as quickly as they began. I quickly fluffed my pillows and made the bed. I turned my phone's screen on and noted I had about ten minutes, but decided to exit the bedroom anyway. _**It's that time, I guess.**_ I stretched my limbs, causing some disturbing, yet comfort-inducing _crack_ s. As I entered the hallway, I heard Mrs. Heelshire yell.

"Brahms!" She hollered. "How could you?! What have you done?!" I walked towards the doll boy's room and saw the Mrs open the window. "Wait til I tell daddy." When I looked into the room, I saw that there were scattered toys thrown about in the room. I raised an eyebrow. Did Mrs. Heelshire do this herself? Did Mr. Heelshire? Who did? She knelt down beside him and seemed defeated. "Mummy has to go now." Her voice reflected her pose. She placed her hand on the doll's face. "You have to be a good boy because you promised us." She was on the brink of a breakdown and I felt for her. Before I could step in to comfort the older woman, I jumped at the sound of Mr. Heelshire's voice.

"I apologize for the rush, Ms. Stone." My body went stiff as an uncontrollable gasp left my lips. I turned to face him, though I'm sure my skin was paled from the startle. "It's been so long since we had a holiday and we're anxious to be off." The gentleman began to walk away from me, albeit slowly. "Besides, Brahms seems so fond of you." I followed after him. "I only wish we had the opportunity to explain to you the systitudes of a child as unique as our Brahms, but you will pick it up, I'm sure." His voice sounded rushed, anxious even. "I have something to, um, help you along." He seemed to fumble with a couple pieces of paper in his breast pocket. "A schedule and rules." He straightened them out as we stopped at a table down the hall from the bedrooms. "Mrs. Heelshire was kind enough to write one out, you see. Now, it may seem a bit silly, but it is important that you follow them because Brahms is not a normal child. He can be..." He paused momentarily, as if to find the right word. "Particular. I'm afraid we may have indulged him a bit over the years." He lead me downstairs. "Come along, mummy." Once we reached the bottom, and were headed to the door, he turned his attention towards me. "Malcolm will be by once a week with groceries, and of course your payment. And I'm sure he can explain or answer any other questions that you might have." He looked down apologetically. "I'm sorry I'm a bit off today." His voice reflected an uneasiness, hell it almost sounded fearful. My eyes grew soft as I looked at the older gentleman. "It's been so long since we've gone anywhere." He stopped when Mrs. Heelshire walked up to us. He pet the doll boy's hair and kissed his head. "Be good to him and he will be good to you." He said turning his eyes on me. "Be bad to him and - "

"She WILL be good to him." Mrs. Heelshire interrupted, a strict certainty in her tone. "Won't you, Ms. Stone?" She almost sounded desperate for a positive answer. _**The poor couple...**_ I don't know what has them so off, if it was nerves or whatnot, but smiled and nodded.

"Yes. I'll love him like he was my own." I guaranteed honestly. How I'd go about doing such with an inanimate doll, I wasn't sure. She kissed his cheek and cradled him. She then handed Brahms over to me and I held him the way I had last night. As soon as he left her arms, and I had my arms on the doll securely, she leaned close to me.

"I'm s... So sorry." She stuttered in my ear. I glanced towards her in a questioning manner. Her hands held my arms gently.

"Come, my dear, it's time we left." Mr. Heelshire wore the same expression in his eyes and in his face as Mrs. Heelshire, apologetic. He walked past us and she quickly followed suit. I drew a breath and followed the couple outside. They approached the car and entered. The driver nodded to me, which I returned, and entered his seat. They took off and disappeared into the distance. I turned around and entered into the large manor, closing the door with my hand before placing it back on his legs. I realized how small I felt in this massive place, the only sound being the _tick_ ing from the clock. I walked towards the chair near by and placed the doll in it and knelt before him.

"Well, seems it's just the two of us, Brahms." I felt rather foolish talking to the doll now that the Heelshires were gone. I stared into it's dead eyes and a shiver clawed at my spine. The memories of my haunted encounters played in my mind. "Sorry, Brahms, nothing personal on you, it's just a personal past thing." I grabbed the cloth on the chair and covered his head. I walked up to my room and began to finish unpacking what little I had left to do. I walked over to my phone and put my music on shuffle. I pulled out my guilty pleasure: homemade white chocolate peanut butter and a jar of blackberry jam, as well as seven packages of Ichiban 'Chow Mein' instant noodles - til Eliza sends me more, and put it on the dresser for the moment. When I finished what little unpacking that needed to be done, I grabbed my speakers, and put my phone in my pocket and walked down the stairs, bringing the jars of goodness with me. I walked into the kitchen to make myself a sandwich. I pulled out the the loaf of bread, grabbed two pieces before putting it back in the bread bin, and opened my jars. I grabbed a knife from the drawer and began to dress my sandwich. I cut the sandwich and put in on a plate. I grabbed a glass and filled it half way with red wine. Once I had my breakfast/brunch made, I grabbed it and walked into the study. Instead of turning on the record player, I plugged in the speakers, and turned my music up full volume so both the covered Brahms doll and I could enjoy the music. I grabbed one of the books from the case and retreated to the comfortable chair. The next song to play was a modern one I quite fancied, 'Courageous' by Megan Nicole. _**A song I've been needing to hear.**_ I smiled as I read the book and began to sing along with the lyrics. "We're all made of many pieces, a million emotions. Every shade and every color in the world. You are perfectly imperfect; thinking you're broken, never knowing just how much you're really worth. Oh, but I can see, see your spirit shining bright. Like a beautiful mosaic, a kaleidoscope of light." I took a sip of wine. "Even if the sky comes falling down, no one's standing in your way. They can't stop you now. Spread your wings and fly above the clouds 'cause you are courageous, courageous, courageous. Oo, oh. Courageous, courageous, courageous. I know that's what you are." And yes, I can multitask; I can read and sing, even read and eat at the same time. It's all about balance, you know? "Hollow words and empty weapons, don't let them define you, 'cause you're stronger than you even realize. Others try to simplify you, but don't know what you've been through; there's so much you've hidden all your life. Oh, but through the crowds is glitters. I see your spirit shining bright, like a beautiful mosaic, a kaleidoscope of light." I rested my head against the edge of the chair, looking out the door leading to the hallway. "Even if the sky comes falling down, no one's standing in your way. They can't stop you now. Spread your wings and fly above the clouds 'cause you are courageous, courageous, courageous. Oo, oh. Courageous, courageous, courageous. Oo, oh. Even if the sky comes falling down, no one's standing in your way. They can't stop you now. Spread your wings and fly above the clouds 'cause you are courageous, courageous, courageous. Oo, oh. Courageous, courageous, courageous. I know that's what you are." I ceased my singing after that song so I can eat about three quarters of my sandwich, taking sips to wash it down, before I had to stop. I groaned when my stomach _growl_ ed angrily at me. "OK, OK, I hear you." I looked down to my abdomen and patted it gently. "No more." A sigh left my lips before being followed by a yawn. _**A nap it is.**_ My eyes slowly closed and I quickly found myself in Slumberland. I woke up to the sound of the phone _ring_ ing. My eyes fluttered open and I stretched. I grabbed my plate, finishing the last few bites, and walked to the kitchen, stopping briefly when I reached the corridor leading to the entryway. The Brahms doll was uncovered and the cloth was on the ground. I placed the plate on the table a few feet from the occupied chair, and cautiously made my way over to the doll. I picked up the doll and walked to his room. I put the doll in the rocking chair. I looked out the window and felt my body stiffen. The gentle rainfall became a violent and turned into a rain and wind storm. I knew what was coming and needed to go. "Sorry, Brahms..." My voice reflected my internal anxiety. I turned away, heading out and towards my bedroom. I didn't mind the heavy rainfall, but every time thunder _clap_ ped and lightning struck, I'd jump. When I was an infant, I always got comfort from my mother when there was a storm, but after father killed her, which was ironically on a stormy night, my astraphobia - fear of thunder and/or lightning - only got worse, and father was obviously not the comforting type. I shut my eyes and ran into my room. I couldn't stop trembling as I jumped on the bed. I hugged a throw pillow, even though it never did anything for me. I began to whimper. Between my own sobs, I heard crying. My chest felt heavy as I pushed myself up from the bed. I carefully maneuvered out of my room and into the dark hallway, only seeing light when the lightning flashed. Because of the constant storm noise, and my fear, I immediately bolted into his room and fell to my knees once inside. I looked up and found the doll had been tilted. What made my heart skip a beat was the sight that there was drop of water under his left eye, which slid down his cheek. _**Is that a... Tear?**_ I scooted closer to the doll my face inches from his. I brought my finger to his cheek and wiped it. "Are you - " My question was interrupted when a drop of water fell onto his face. I looked up and noted that there was a small leak in the roof. I drew a heavy, calming breath. "Heaven have mercy." I sighed. "You've been here a day and you're already losing it." I looked back towards the doll who appeared to be a boy who was lost in tears. I picked him up and brought him to the bed. I laid him on the bed, walked over to the dresser, and grabbed his pajamas. I made my way back to the bed and began to undress him the way Mrs. Heelshire did yesterday. I grabbed the blankets and pulled them over top of the doll. "Good night, Brahms." I walked out of the room and headed back to mine. Even though the cries I heard were more than likely the old house, and the storm had me on edge, I was able to fall asleep knowing that I had a moment, albeit short-lived, with the doll. As my head hit the pillow, I fell asleep with a smile on my face, even with the storm noise.


	4. Change of Plans

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**  
-I DO NOT own _The Boy_ , it's characters, or it's storyline. _The Boy_ was directed by William Brent Bell, and written by Stacey Daley. I DO NOT own any of the music featured in my fanfictions. The lyrics/music belongs to their respected artists. I DO own Veronica "Ronnie" Stone, her story, and her concept. I DO own the cover images to my fanfictions; be them edits or drawings. Be respectful to my art and edits, and DO NOT steal them.  
- _ **Bold-italic**_ phrases will indicate Ronnie's thoughts or the thoughts of others while in their point of view. _Italic_ phrases will indicate a sound being made.  Underlined phrases will indicate the title of a movie, TV show, etc. When you see "..." it means that the point-of-view has shifted.  
-The song representing the story is "The Phantom of the Opera" by Sarah Brightman and Michael Crawford from the _The Phantom of the Opera_ Broadway performance.  
-"Odihnească-se în pacee, mama" is Romanian for "Rest in peace, mother".  
-The dress Ronnie has picked out is like this only black: sta. sh/06xtc3yygv3 (no space between sta. sh).

* * *

 **3.) Change of Plans  
** ***  
Sing once again with me, our strange duet. My power over you, grows stronger yet. You'll give your love to me, for love is blind. The phantom of the opera is now your mastermind.  
***

Even though she didn't abide by the rules, or respect the schedule, she didn't forget about me. She comforted me in my time of need, even if she didn't realize it. I watched carefully as my caretaker, Ronnie, dressed me in my pajamas. My anxiety rose when she tucked me in; I anticipated a kiss good night but there was nothing other than a "Good night, Brahms". My heart sank. I needed my kiss. It was the only thing to keep the nightmares away. I waited for her to come back but she didn't. I ended up succumbing to slumber a short while after; I dreamt about her. Her smell, her smile, her voice. I had chosen her and now I wanted her. I want her to be mine and mine alone.

...

I was welcomed by sun beams peering through my curtains. I stretched and went to pick out my attire for the day: my Snowing - another Once Upon a Time ship name; Snow White and her Prince Charming, David - tank top, jeans, and white socks. I gathered my clothes and went to have a shower. I used the same towel as yesterday seeing as I don't mind using things - clothes, cloths, or towels - twice. The only reason I didn't wear the same clothes is because I like to reuse them without being repetitive. Variety is the spice of life, after all. After adjusting the temperature, scrubbing my skin, drying off, and getting dressed, I left the bathroom. Like yesterday, I fluffed up my hair to my liking. Once I was satisfied, I walked out of the room. I folded my arms and stretched - no _crack_ s this time - however, I ended up looking up, leading to my discovering a pull out attic entryway. I tilted my head and began to scan the area, quickly finding the hook to pull it down. Once it hooked on, I gave it a pull. Nothing. Didn't even budge. I pulled again. Still nothing. _**Fuck you!**_ I mentally cursed with a glare. I released an aggravated snort before putting it back in it's place. As I did so, I noted the gentle rain that had befallen the area, if not the country. _**Well, England and some other European countries don't see too much sun, it's best I don't expect sunshine and rainbows.**_ I giggled at the thought. I get amused at my own stupid thoughts sometimes. I pressed on downstairs towards the kitchen so I can make myself a piece of buttered toast, only this time have coffee with it. As the coffee brewed, I was dressing toast. After pouring myself a cup of coffee, adding two tablespoons of my flavored cream - Vanilla Toffee Cream to be precise - and four spoons of sugar, I grabbed a plate and put my toast on it. I ventured into the study and sat in the chair I claimed yesterday prior to my nap. After I finished my toast, I stood and walked over to the piano. I looked at the sheet music. _**Brahms' Lullaby...**_ A composition I knew well. Mother played it whenever I cried as an infant. I didn't even look at the keys and began to play the melody, closing my eyes as I did so. I played the song smoothly and without a flaw. Once I finished the melody, I smiled. "Odihnească-se în pacee, mama.*" I prayed quietly stroking the cross around my neck. A natural instinct I had; something that gave me comfort, as if mother was with me as long as I wore her cross. I grabbed my coffee and made my way up to my room to give Eliza a call. I dialed the number but got her voicemail. I tried again but there wasn't a change. I went back downstairs to refresh my coffee and went outside when the rain subsided. I looked out over the garden and sighed before sipping on my coffee. I went back inside, once my cup was empty, and went to the study to continue reading the book from last night. When night had fallen, I went towards the kitchen but detoured to the study to claim the dirty plate, and went back on my way. I had washed my plate and put it back in the cupboard. I opened a package of ramen noodles and put in on the stove to boil in a pot. While I was waiting for that, I went upstairs to my bedroom and called Eliza for the third time. Once more it went to her voicemail, but this time I decided to leave a message. "Hey, Eliza. It's me. Again. Call me back when you can. Can you please send me some of your cookies, please? I miss them. Oh, and some of my books, too." I had nothing against what I had read, I just want variety. "Bye." I hung the phone on the base and sat on top on my bed. "Guess I should go check on my noodles. Don't wanna set the place on fire." Before I could push myself to do so, the phone rang. _**Finally!**_ I mentally cried. I picked up the phone. "Hello?" There wasn't any response, just heavy breathing. "Eliza? Eliza is that you?" The person on the other end hung up. I didn't know how to feel. Did someone butt dial this number? Was Eliza playing a trick? Was there a creepy fuck who got off on prank calling people? A heavy sigh left my lips. "Whatever." I pushed myself off of the bed to go down to the kitchen. I sought out the strainer and put my noodles in a bowl, adding the seasoning package. I loved the smell of it. And yes, I add the seasoning to the noodles without water, at least with this kind. It's the only instant ramen I'll eat. I mixed the seasoning with the noodles and began to eat. Once finished, I washed my bowl, put it back into the cupboard, and went upstairs. I drew myself a bath to relax myself and then went to bed shortly after. When I woke up the next morning, I got dressed into my black blouse and jean combo, and decided to go for a job around the premises, stopping briefly at the mail box. I looked through the pieces of mail and put the envelopes in my coat pocket. Before I could turn to continue my jog a car pulled up to the gate. Low and behold it was the grocery man, Malcolm.

"Need a lift?" He asked with a warm smile.

"No, but I will let you in and we can race." I smirked, challenging the young man.

"A challenge, huh?" My smirk grew into a grin. "A challenge it is." He chuckled. I pushed open the gates and he sped off - well, not fast fast - without me.

"Hey! I didn't say go!" I glared at the vehicle and took off running. Unfortunately for him, I was quite the runner. When I reached the front seat window, I leaned forward a bit and grinned. "See ya!" I pushed myself to run as fast as I could to beat him to the front driveway. When all was said and done, I just barely beat him. He turned off his car and followed me into the large home.

"You gone bonkers yet?" He teased with a playful nudge. _**Not exactly, but I'm not about to tell you about the creepy events only to have you judge me.**_ I rolled my eyes at him.

"It's just a house." He raised his eyebrow at me. "A big, empty, Victorian, or pre-Victorian, home." I shrugged. "Nothing I can't handle." We made our way into the kitchen. "I'm from New Orleans, that place is the black magic, voodoo, and one of the most cursed cities in the US." I leaned against the edge of the island and watched as he poured himself a cup of coffee, pouring me one as well. After that, he went towards the deep freezer and pulled out stored meals. "You really think you should do that? I mean, don't they keep track of their frozen inventory or something?" He looked at me and shook his head, smiling, as if silently judging me. I puffed my cheeks in debate. He smiled and shook his head before emptying the contents of the container. "So all this food will go to waste?"

"No. Not all of it." He grabbed the edge of the garbage bag and tapped it a few times before pulling it out. "Mr. Heelshire would eat some of them. He's always been the less strict one about all of this." He knotted the bag and put it aside. I sighed and stepped away from the island, my arms wrapped around themselves.

"You could have told me, you know." I stated unintentionally. Those words would have been used on him a couple days ago, but now I wasn't bothered by it. At least not as much as before. He looked at me as he opened the door.

"And ruin the surprise?" I shook my head, a smile holding on my lips. He closed the door. "Speaking of surprises..." His voice trailed as he reached into his pocked. He pulled out a thick envelope. "Your first week's pay for a job well done." He held it towards me. I wanted to gawk at it just simply because of the width and that it could still close, albeit barely. I was hit by a sudden feeling of guilt. I hadn't done anything that was required of me. Though Mrs. Heelshire could be strict and quick to judge, she did have tenderness in her, and Mr. Heelshire was much more understanding and respectful, a pretty decent man. _**I am taking advantage of them...**_ A sad realization, I must say.

"Thank you." I spoke meekly as I accepted the envelope. He grabbed his cup of coffee. "I am curious..."

"Yes, I am single, believe it or not." I rolled my eyes. I appreciated the charm but he was being playful when I was being serious. "What's the story with the doll?" I nodded shyly as I grabbed for my coffee, sipping it. He put his coffee cup down and walked towards the door leading outside, the one attached to the kitchen. I put my cup down and followed him outside. He lead me to the back of the massive home and we stopped at a headstone. It read:  
Brahms  
1983 - 1991  
...he shall not perish, but have everlasting life.  
"There was a fire. Brahms didn't make it out. On his eighth birthday." Malcolm explained. "Such a tragedy." I held my hands to my chest, feeling a sorrowful pain build within it. _**He was so young... TOO young...**_ I had to bite down on the inside of my bottom lip to keep myself from getting teary-eyed. "The doll turned up not too long after that. I know it must seem strange." He said shuffling his feet. "I mean, it is bloody strange. It's all harmless; a way to cope. I can't imagine what it's like to lose a child."

"So he died roughly twenty years ago?" I muttered solemnly. "He'd be about your age, I suppose, and three years older than me." Then it dawned on me. "They've been living this life for twenty years?"

"Mhm." He answered. "And they've been looking for a nanny for about a year." He turned and looked at me. "How were you not driven mad yet?" I laughed at his question.

"Who said I wasn't mad to begin with?" I teased as I playfully nudged his chest with elbow, earning a chuckle from him.

"It could prove healthy if you got out. I could take you to see the world famous local nightlife. I mean, I know technically you're not supposed to leave Brahms, but I won't tell if you won't." I shook my head, my smile lingering, though it was fading.

"I... I haven't really dated before." I admitted honestly. "I mean, I've had suitors ask me out, but I'm..." I glanced away from him, my smile gone. _**I can't... Not yet.**_ I bit my bottom lip in thought. "Broken, to put things simply." I dragged my gaze back to him. "I just... I recently lost two important people in my life, and I need to heal. I don't think a date's going to fix that or me." I looked at him with saddened eyes. His gaze reflected heartache, but he wore a grin.

"Who said it's a date? I assure you it's not. This is a... A professional courtesy seeing as we're employed by the same people." He reasoned. I can see he was wishing he could be honest about it, but I appreciated the gesture no less. "It's a duty is what it is." I giggled at his claim. As I said before, he is attractive, but I just don't feel that pull. Maybe it's my nerves and/or my fears, but I don't feel anything romantic for him. Maybe it can develop, but I'm certainly not going to rush anything. "I will take no pleasure in it whatsoever. I promise." _**He did come all this way to check on me...**_ I nodded. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." I giggled.

...

He was making her laugh. He was making her smile. I felt anger build within me. Though I loved her laugh, and was drawn in by her beautiful smile, it wasn't me causing it. What added to the burning rage was the fact that he wanted to take her away from me. My Ronnie. My pretty Veronica. **_I won't allow that. She's mine._** I thought with a growl. Her smile, her voice, her smell, her body. Everything. She belongs to me. _**It's only a matter of time til mummy and daddy say so.**_ I pulled from the curtain and got back to my spot. I had to think of a plan and quick.

...

Malcolm had gone to get ready and I figured I would call Eliza before I got myself ready. I pulled off my pants as I waited for her to pick up. "Ronnie~!" Eliza's slurred voice sang. She had been drinking. _**Perfect.**_ I thought with narrowed eyes. "How was today?"

"I see you've been drinking." She cheered on the other end. I simply rolled my eyes. "It was fine. Malcolm came by to check on me. See how my sanity was doing. Delivered my first week's payment, too." I felt the same guilt from early reappear and I walked towards the attached room where I had put the Brahms doll, peeking in. He was in on the bed, facing forward, and sitting comfortably. As comfortably as a porcelain doll could anyway. I smiled knowing the doll boy was in a comfortable situation. "It's twice the amount the store makes in two weeks."

"Oh em gee, Ronnie! By the time you get back, you're gonna be loaded!" I narrowed my eyes at her words. _**I didn't apply to this job because of the money, it was to help me and help a family in need out.**_ My smile was aimed towards the Brahms doll and nodded before making my way back to my room. "What'cha up to?" She cooed into the phone. "Can you guess what I'm doing?"

"You're drinking, getting completely smashed by the sound of it." A heavy sigh left from my lips. "As for me, I'm getting dressed."

"Ooooo." She swooned. "Into what?" I rolled my eyes.

"The dress." I heard her whistle into the phone causing me to flinch. "Malcolm invited me to a night on the town. See something other than these walls." I walked over to the closet and pulled out the only dress I had brought with me. It was a simple black dress; it resembled a pin-up style dress. I looked towards the mirror and held it up to my body. This was a dress Eliza had bought be prior to my departure. "Before you say anything, it's not a date." I stated simply. "It's more like two employees going out and having a good time. Like we did on many occasions."

"Well, he better respect you. Otherwise I'll track him down and cut the bitch." Eliza warned. She's not joking, either. Being a country girl, she isn't afraid to get her hands dirty. I smiled. _**Still protective even when drunk.**_

"Oh, and who will bring me groceries?" I heard her groan causing me to giggle. "That's what I thought." I walked towards the mirror only stopping in my tracks to notice that the doll's head was turned to face the room. Towards the mirror as if to watch me through the reflection of the mirror. My heart skipped several beats. I shook my head. **_Enough._** I snorted before walking towards the door. "I need privacy, Brahms." I closed the door. I drew a heavy breath.

"Ronnie?" Eliza's voice whined. I lifted the phone to my ear.

"Sorry." I sighed. "It's Brahms."

"The doll?"

"Yeah. Anyway, I need to shower. I'll call you when I get back, if you're still conscious." She and I giggled. "Good night, Eliza."

"Night Ronnie!" I hung the phone on it's base and walked towards the bathroom. I moved the handles and adjusted the temperature. I placed the dress down over the fabric hanging chair. I decided I would remove the necklace only because it got in the way of my cleaning. I brought the cross to my lips and kissed it before placing it on the sink. I put the towel on the chair closest to the shower and proceeded into the shower where I took part in my cleaning ritual.

...

The water to the shower was running. She was having a shower. I could see very little, other than her silhouette. She seemed to be scrubbing her skin rather vigorously. I looked at her questionably but shrugged it off. I grabbed the dress and looked at it a moment. It's pretty and I'm sure it'd be prettier on her, but I'm not going to let anyone else see her in it but me. I pulled the gown from it's spot, making sure I didn't make any noise. I looked over to her, afraid she may have seen me. She was now scrubbing her legs. _**I wish she didn't do that...**_ Her skin looked so soft, yet so fragile. I'd hate to see her hurt. I made my way to the sink and saw the pretty necklace. I didn't really want to take it, since it seemed to make her happy, but I took it anyway. I looked towards her once more knowing the necklace would make more noise than the dress, but still I seemed unnoticed. That was both something to be celebrated and disheartening. As quickly as I went in, I left. Stage one was complete.

...

I climbed out of the shower and grabbed the towel, drying my body. I combed my fingers through the dampened tufts of my hair and tried to make it look like a flattering feminine style best I could. It was then that I realized I some of my hair had been cut. "What the...?" As weirded out as I was, I decided to brush it off. I went to grab my necklace only to find it was gone. "No..." My anxiety began to build. I looked to the floor but didn't see it. "No, no, no, no." My voice cracked. I looked towards the chair that had put my dress on only to find that it too was missing. I wrapped the towel around my body, securing it with a tight twist. My chest became tight as I made my way towards the exit. Cautiously I walked out of the room and around the door frame. I was a nervous wreck, trembling and shaking. _**Could he have found me?**_ The thought only made my anxiety rise further. I walked into my room and switched on the light. I heard a male's voice mutter, it seemed to echo around me. A shiver clawed at my spine. _**Oh, god...**_ I wanted to cry. Hell, I'm sure I'd seek comfort from the Brahms doll. I backed my way out of the room and into the hallway, noticing that the stairs to the attic had been pulled down. "Hello?!" I called as bravely as I could, facing the ladder. "Malcolm, if that's you, you aren't funny." I commented with an unstable tone. I received silence before the floor _creak_ ed. "If someone's up there..." I could barely hold a stable voice. "I swear you'll re... Regret it." My voice cracked at the threat. I wanted to run away, but I had to protect the home that was left in my care while the Heelshires were away. I had a sudden adrenaline rush that acted like a courage boost. I grabbed the hook on instinct and held it to my body tightly, ready to use it offensively if need be, and went towards the ladder. Each step up made time feel two times slower, but I pressed on. I slowed myself to the speed of a snail when I reached the top of the ladder. I carefully glanced around the pitch black attic. When I saw nothing in the darkness my courage wavered. "Hello?" I questioned meekly. No response. I walked up with the hook ready to attack. "Anyone up here?" I couldn't believe I was playing the role of a stupid horror movie victim. I was following the creepy noises and entering a dark room with no lights in sight. Once my feet were on the floor of the attic, I glanced around waiting for my eyes to get adjusted to the darkness. I jumped when the ladder folded upward. I began to desperately push on the ladder. "Please, please." I begged, my eyes rimming with tears. I began to push harder but there was no change. I rested on top of my folded knees. I was trapped up here, no one to help me. I began to sniffle. Father would lock me in our basement when he'd leave the house. I brought my knees to my chest and began to rock. _**Not again...**_ I whimpered as tears fell freely from my eyes. There was a sudden _crash_ behind me which made my heart jump into my throat. It was the sound of a car door. I pushed myself up and knocked boxes out of the way. "Malcolm..." I whispered as I rubbed my eyes. "Malcolm!" I called through the vent-like thing. "Up here!" I banged on the strong wood. I watched as he walked towards the door. _**He didn't hear me.**_ My anxiety rose and I began to panic. "Malcolm!" I yelled louder. He was clearly not hearing my calls. I watched as he knocked on the doors. I bit the inside of my bottom lip. _**What do I do...?**_ My eyes widened as I remembered the hook in my hands. I began to beat the back end against the vent. "No!" I called noting how useless my attempts were. "Oh my god... Up here!" I saw that he walked away from the door and was headed towards his car. "Malcolm!" I screamed. I began to beat at the wood again; I was no longer feeling anxious, but I was starting to become impatient.

"Ronnie!" Malcolm's voice called. _**Why can I hear him but he can't hear me?**_ When I realized my voice wasn't loud enough, let alone that I couldn't beat the wood into submission, I turned it around and put the hook between wood pieces. I began to pull down on the hook in the attempt to pry the pieces apart, if not break them. I began to feel a sense of achievement when I heard the sound of wood _crack_ ing, only it wasn't the wood from the vent, it was the wood of the hook stick. It _crack_ ed and broke causing me to stumble. I threw both pieces to the ground and ran back to the vent.

"No, no..." I banged the wood, though at this point it was meaningless. "No!" I cried before resting my forehead against my balled fists. I drew several breaths and pushed myself away from the vent. I slowly felt my way around, feeling nothing for the most part. My hand came in contact with something and pushed myself forward. My eyes went from my and to the wall before me. I saw the shadow of a body, instantly causing me to shriek. I took a clumsy step backward, which ultimately lead to me falling backward and hitting the floor, and passed out on impact.

...

Once I got close enough, I pressed my head against her chest, which was rising and falling at a normal pace, and stared at her resting face. Regardless of how tranquil her breathing was and how beautiful she looked in the moonlight, her heartbeat was erratic. She was so very frightened. I didn't want this. My actions scared her; I scared her. I may have wanted to show her that there were consequences for her neglect, but my pretty Ronnie got hurt and it was my fault. After a few minutes, her heartbeat slowed down to a regular pace. I could fall asleep to that sound. Her skin was so soft, almost like silk. Her skin caressing mine made my heartbeat quicken. It felt so nice. I wanted to feel it more. My hand reached for her face and my fingers brushed against her cheek. I noted that my action had caused my breathing to become shallow and felt heat rise to my face. I had a knotting feeling twist in my stomach and my trousers became tight. I lifted my head only to examine my lower half of my body. It had been some times since THAT was triggered. I looked down towards my sleeping angel. I had to leave before this got worse, before I lost control, even though I wanted to stay by her side forever. I pushed myself up and looked at her one last time. _**Good night, pretty Ronnie.**_ I turned and left her, returning to the safety of my sanctuary.


	5. Haunted

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:  
** -I DO NOT own _The Boy_ , it's characters, or it's storyline. _The Boy_ was directed by William Brent Bell, and written by Stacey Daley. I DO NOT own any of the music featured in my fanfictions. The lyrics/music belongs to their respected artists. I DO own Veronica "Ronnie" Stone, her story, and her concept. I DO own the cover images to my fanfictions; be them edits or drawings. Be respectful to my art and edits, and DO NOT steal them.  
- _ **Bold-italic**_ phrases will indicate Ronnie's thoughts or the thoughts of others while in their point of view. _Italic_ phrases will indicate a sound being made.  Underlined phrases will indicate the title of a movie, TV show, etc. When you see "..." it means that the point-of-view has shifted.  
-The song representing the story is "The Phantom of the Opera" by Sarah Brightman and Michael Crawford from the _The Phantom of the Opera_ Broadway performance.  
-The English term 'of a pickle' means being really, really drunk.

* * *

 **4.) Haunted  
** ***  
Sing once again with me, our strange duet. My power over you, grows stronger yet. You'll give your love to me, for love is blind. The phantom of the opera is now your mastermind.  
***

I felt the warm kiss of the sun's rays caress my cheek. My eyes snapped open and found that I had indeed been knocked out in the attic, trapped. _**It wasn't a dream.**_ My heartbeat became erratic. I pushed myself up, though I paid for it for the pounding headache and blurred vision. "Shit." I cursed beneath my breath. _**I'm pretty sure this bullshit wouldn't happen if the Heelshires were home.**_ A shaky pout captured my lower lip. I gripped the back of my head only to wince at the pain. I had to get out of this forsaken place. I slowly pushed myself up, bringing myself to stand. I blinked the tears from my eyes and looked around. My eyes scanned to the place I had seen the silhouette of a person only to find a hanging suit. "Oh god..." I began to curse my paranoid stupidity beneath my breath. _**While I'm up here...**_ My thought trailed. I bit my lip as I looked around the area. It was boxes and miscellaneous shit galore up here. _**So much items stored up here for a family of three.**_ My eyes fell to the floor before me, spotting a photo album. I knelt down and picked it up, opening it. The first page had a photo of an adorable baby boy and a toddler photo beside it. I _aw_ ed at it. My anxiety had completely dispersed as I looked at the photos of the cute little lad. I flipped the page and found child photos of the boy. My eyes widened. "Brahms...?" My memory traced the portrait that the Heelshires had painted and hung downstairs. What confirmed my suspicion was the loose photos on the next page. There was a photo sized print of the portrait, and the original photo below it. I picked up both photos and placed the print behind the original and examined it closely. The artist was indeed talented, but, like all the others photo of him before this one, he wasn't smiling. He stared at me with the same dead eyes that the doll did, so empty, like he had no meaning in life. My heart sank at this. _**How could one boy with such loving parents be like this all the time...?**_ As I got lost in my thoughts, the ladder was pulled down. I jumped, both frightened and excited, at the sound. I ran over to the hook, grabbing it if need be, and made my way down the ladder. I looked around the hallway. Everything seemed to be in it's place, nothing taken. I slowly made my way towards my room and stopped in the door frame. I stood there, gawking; more than likely looking like a stupid person. My things were thrown around the room; my clothes were tossed about and scattered as if someone plucked them from my dresser and tossed everywhere. I made a quick bolt towards my dresser. My phone was gone, too. My breathing became uneasy and my heartbeat went into panic mode. I shuffled towards the corded phone and dialed the only local number I knew, other than the manor's of course. "Pick up, pick up." I pleaded while gripping onto the object.

"Hello?" Came an exhausted voice.

"Malcolm!" I basically yelled into the phone.

"Ronnie?" My knees were buckling at my distress.

"I need you here. Now." I choked out before I hung up the phone. I collapsed to the ground and began to rock myself. If I had mother's cross, I would be a bit calmer, but I don't. The fucker messing with me did. _**What if he's still here...?**_ I began to sob into my knees. Time seemed to pass much slower, a second felt like an hour, a minute felt like a year. I felt a hand on my shoulder causing me to release a shriek-ish gasp. There behind me stood Malcolm. I pushed myself to my knees and wrapped my arms around his waist before crying into him.

"Ronnie?"

...

I had done this to her. I made her feel so broken down and scared her. My heart hurt knowing that I caused my pretty Ronnie so much distress. What's worse is my actions lead her to have her arms around Malcolm, crying. I began to hit my head. _**Stupid Brahms. Stupid, stupid, stupid!**_ I had to make it up to her, but how? I went back to my sanctuary and began to think.

...

Once I had cried all the tears I had, I pulled away from him and, with his aid, stood. "Sorry, Malcolm." I brought my hand to my eyes and rubbed the tear stains away. "I didn't mean to breakdown on you." I looked at him. He placed his jacket around me and turned around. I tilted my head. Then it hit: he was giving me privacy so I could change. _**Oh...**_ I glanced away from his back and picked up the clothes I had worn on my second day here before retreating into the bathroom into my room. A few minutes later I walked out. "Here." I whispered meekly as I held out his jacket. "Thanks..." I hid my blush behind my bangs. He turned around and smiled at me.

"I'll brew us a fresh pot of coffee and you can tell me what had you so shaken up, yeah?" I smiled and nodded. I was happy to have company; I didn't feel so alone. We walked downstairs and, as he promised, he dumped the old coffee into a tall glass and began a new brew. As we waited, he rested his elbows on the island. I drew a heavy breath.

"Someone was here last night." I said with a sigh.

"Yeah, me." He grinned but I shook my head.

"I'm serious. There was someone here last night." I muttered. I wrapped my arms around myself, hugging my form in attempts to comfort myself. "They took my dress, my necklace, locked me in the attic, and ransacked my room."

"Ah, so it wasn't a mental breakdown thing." Malcolm stated while nodding his head. **_Not at all._**

"No. Someone had to have somehow gotten inside." I shut my eyes trying to calm the building of my anxiety. "And I'm... I'm afraid that they're still here." I turned my head away. He grabbed my hand and lead me upstairs. "I spent the whole night in the attic." I said, nodding towards the ladder. He touched it ever so slightly, leading to it folding and settling back in it's place up top.

"Woah..." He breathed with wide eyes. "Well, the mystery of you being trapped was debunked." I closed my eyes and released a heavy breath. _**Maybe I had triggered it when I took my first step.**_ Yeah, that had to be it. "I'll go check the rest of the house, just so I can ease that sensitive anxiety of yours." I glanced towards him, sending a playful glare his way. I hugged my arms and followed Malcolm into the Heelshires' bedroom. He looked around the bedroom, then entered the bathroom. I wandered over the the attached room, Brahms' room, and saw that Brahms' head was still turned toward the entryway. I heard Malcolm's footsteps draw closer. "So, Ronnie, I have looked over every nook and cranny of this very lovely, very weird and large house, all windows are sealed tight. The house is clear, OK?" He came towards me.

"There was someone in here, I know it." I was still on edge, paranoid even. "My clothes..." Maybe I had reached my breaking point. Maybe I was finally beginning to crack. Malcolm's eyes held a sad look but I couldn't decipher how he felt.

"You know, I used to sleep walk when I was a boy..." _**I appreciate how he's trying to help me rationalize the situation, but no.**_ I shook my head though.

"I wasn't sleep walking." I locked eyes with him.

"I could stick around for a bit. Make sure we don't have some very polite burglar on our hands. Coming in, taking nothing, and then locking up after himself before he leaves." He was giving me the puppy dog eyes. If I had a weakness, it would be the Kryptonite-like affect from puppy dog eyes. "It's really no problem. I mean, I'm here anyway." I smiled at his gesture.

"You sure?" My eyes searched his.

"Absolutely." I could tell that his intentions were true.

"OK." I agreed meekly. Most of the day was spent around the house or my dragging him to go jogging with me. We'd strike up random conversations, ending our activities with a game of billiards. I chalked up the cue stick and aimed the cue ball at the mahogany ball, making a perfect hit as both balls _clap_ ped before my target got sunk.

"You've played this before." Malcolm indirectly complimented. I stood up and looked towards him. _**I'm no amateur, that's for sure.**_

"Bourbon Street Champion, two years running." I informed with a proud grin. "Tell me when you're ready to play." I walked around the pool table to align myself to get my next target. "There's money in it." I was trying to challenge him via bribery.

"Oh, no thanks, Ms. Champ." I felt his eyes on me when I sunk my next ball, a yellow one.

"So..." My voice trailed as I stood straight, eyes on him. "Tell me about Brahms." A subject I wanted to bring up sooner, but the other ones prior were too interesting to interrupt with a touchy subject. He seemed flabbergasted at my request.

"I told you about all I know." His tone reflected how uninterested he was in the new subject manner. I smirked, though.

"Wow. That was a horrendous poker face, pal." He smiled and chuckled.

"Alright, what do you want to know?" He made his way over to me. I raised my eyebrow momentarily. _**How much more is there?**_

"What was he like, the real Brahms?" I was curious, to say the least. The boy didn't wear a smile in any of the photos I saw. Maybe there was a reason why, and maybe, just maybe, Malcolm knew it. I leaned against the pool table while Malcolm rested against the ottoman.

"You need to know there's two types of talk in town. There's polite talk, and pub talk, you know? And the truth is somewhere in between." Seemed like it's universal; rumors are based on fact, though they lose almost all truth along the way.

"OK, what was the polite talk?" He released a heavy sigh.

"That he was a lovely lad, and it's a tragedy that he was taken at such a young age." It was sad no matter what the truth was. I was hesitant to ask, but I needed clarity.

"And the pub talk?" I asked, wincing slightly.

"Well, you know, that he wasn't such a lovely lad." He nodded. "Yeah..." He bit his bottom lip, as if hesitant to continue. "He was downright strange." I looked at him analytically. _**Curious...**_

"What's the truth?" I pushed myself away from the pool table's edge and sat beside him. His eyes seemed a bit glossy. _**Is it really that bad?**_

"When I came out here for a delivery, I didn't know it at the time, but it was Brahms' birthday, or would've been." He drew a breath. "Mrs. Heelshire, she was in the sitting room opening presents with the doll, and Mr. Heelshire, he was in here off his pickle. Drunk, and... And mumbling to himself." I didn't think Mr. Heelshire drank much, but this story was opening my eyes bit by bit. "You know, how he couldn't do it anymore. I told him I'd come back, but he said 'no, no, have a drink with an old man', so I do. Well, we get a couple drink in, chatting about the weather and so on, and finally I get the courage to ask him that exact question." I nodded encouraging him to continue. "'What was Brahms, the real Brahms, like?' God, he just looked so amiss, he had this heart broken look. It made me sorry I even asked. He said one word: odd. He says 'odd'. That was it, which I suppose is all the answer I'm gonna get." Did Brahms know what his father thought of him? Did Mrs. Heelshire feel the same way? Is that why he was always so expressionless? All these questions buzzed in my mind. My heart went out to the boy if any of those questions were indeed a yes. "My shot." He said breaking the tension. He made his way around the table so he could take his shot, stopping to look at me. "You sure you're going to be OK here on your own?" I went from staring blankly to the wall across the room to Malcolm only to look away.

"Yeah." I had so many rampant thoughts, I didn't know what else more to say. We wrapped up the game of pool. I had won by one shot. Once we put things back in order, we said our good nights, and I closed the door. I had taken in so much today. I was drained; emotionally, mentally, and physically. I dragged my weakened body up the stairs and decided to call Eliza before I called it a night. The phone rang once and got answered immediately. "Hey Eliza."

"Ronnie!" She chimed with a cheer. "I thought you were a gonner for sure." I smiled and shook my head.

"No. I'm still alive. Occasionally a nervous, scared, and paranoid mess, but I digress." I cradled the phone between my head and my neck as I reached for my book. "Let's just say I went through a LOT today, but Malcolm helped me. He told me more about Brahms, the real Brahms, and I just... I understand a bit more now. They lost their child twenty years ago. The doll is like some kind of coping mechanism."

"Let me get this straight, a family friend of told you that the freaky people pretend a doll is their dead son. Yeah, I'd so trust those people." I could hear the sarcasm in her tone. I'm sure it was intended, too. I narrowed my eyes. _**They aren't freaks, Eliza.**_ "And Malcolm, how can you trust him?"

"It's not like that, Eliza. He didn't have to come here and help me through my breakdown, let alone search the whole house after I told him that someone had to be here." I smiled as I flipped the page of my book.

"You watch, I guarantee that you'll wake up one night and he'll be standing over you in your black dress, lipstick smeared all over his face."

"Yeah... I don't think my dress would look flattering on him. He lacks the curves." I giggled.

"I'm serious!" She defended. "There are some real bad people out in the world. Unfortunately, you should know that more than anyone." A heavy sigh left her lips. "Yeah... He's looking for you. He came by the shop earlier asking for you." My blood ran cold and my heart seemed to stop beating. My body became stiff with fear, though I did begin to tremble.

"Did he... Did he..." I stuttered. I was so frightened to ask the question because I was afraid of the answer.

"Yes." She sighed. _**No...**_ "He had hit me with a metal pole and stole my address book." I closed my eyes and tried desperately to lower my anxiety levels.

"I'm sorry, Eliza..." I managed to squeak out. "I didn't mean for you to get dragged into this."

"Don't apologize, you're my business partner and my best friend." She sighed. "If anyone should apologize, it's me." I could hear her breathing hitch.

"Don't worry. I'll think of something. I won't let that perverted and vile son of a bitch get his hands on me." I clenched my fists.

"Everything happens for a reason; I just don't want to see you hurt, or worse get a phone call from the police over there asking me to come and identify the body." I stared at the wall, a half glare capturing my gaze.

"Thank you for your faith in me." I muttered. At least my nerves had gone down, albeit minimally. "I gotta go. I'm drained and need sleep. I'll call you in the morning."

"Alright, Ronnie. Good night." I smiled solemnly.

"Good night, Eliza." I hung up the phone and went into the bathroom so I could brush my teeth. After the cleaning and clearing my mouth of the toothpaste, I lifted my head to dry my mouth, and went to bed. In my dream, I had finished washing my face, patting it dry, and saw that a shadow crossed the wall. My body became stiff but I went against my better judgment and followed it into Brahms' room. The doll still laid atop of his bed, but there were papers everywhere. I tilted my head and approached the doll so I could finally turn his head away from the direction it was currently facing. As soon as I adjusted it forward it snapped back towards me. I shot up in my bed covered in a sheet of cold sweat. I needed to confront the doll if I was to feel at peace before going back to sleep. I pushed myself off the bed and went towards my bedroom door. I opened it to find my heeled converse boots. I should be happy to have my shoes back, but I wasn't. I was scared. _**There IS someone here...**_ I thought, a shiver clawing at my spine. I slowly made my way over to Brahms' room only to stop in my tracks, a couple feet from the door. He was sitting upright, legs over the side, facing the door. He looked as if he had returned my boots and came running back, sitting and waiting for me to see him. Beside him laid a clipboard, the ten rules that Mrs. Heelshire wrote clipped in place. I could see them clear as day.  
1\. No Guests  
2\. Never Leave Brahms Alone  
3\. Save Meals in Freezer  
4\. Never Cover Brahms Face  
5\. Read Bedtime Story  
6\. Play Loud Music  
7\. Clean the Traps  
8\. Only Malcolm Brings Deliveries  
9\. Brahms is Never to Leave  
10\. Kiss Goodnight  
 _ **Fuck this supernatural shit!**_ I wasn't about that life, guys. I already dealt with that shit when I was younger, I don't need it now. I booked it into my room and slammed the door, locking it behind me. I rushed towards the phone and tried to call only to find no dial tone. "No..." I whimpered. I slammed the phone down and tried to calm myself, but I was failing. Miserably. I was hyperventilating, my pulse was through the roof, I began to itch from stress-induced hives. The phone rang. I picked up the phone and answered with a anxious "Hello?" There were seconds of silence. "Hello?" I called again.

"Ronnie." Came a child's voice. I dropped the phone before backing away from it. The last time I encountered a haunted doll, I was nearly drowned in a lake. The phone rang again. I picked it up.

"Hello?" My voice cracked. "Who is this?!" I breathed anxiously. I was desperate to hear a familiar voice. Unfortunately, it was one I wasn't hoping to hear a second time.

"Please come out." The boy's voice asked innocently. "Come play with me, Ronnie. Ronnie?"

"Who is this?" I sobbed. I already knew the answer, but I prayed otherwise.

"Why won't you follow the rules?" The boy's voice still retained it's cuteness, but there was a bit of force behind his words.

"Oh my god..." I whimpered as I hung up the phone. I picked it up and threw it away from me. I heard footsteps in the hallway and felt my blood run cold. There were three knocks at my bedroom door. "Why are you doing this?!" I cried. Once again there was a knocking pattern of three. I fell to the floor. More knocking came. I watched as the shadow of the feet walked out of sight, and heard humming as it did so. As scared as I was, I forced myself to calm down a bit, at least enough to concentrate. _**I have to do something...**_ While my thoughts ran rampant, he continued to hum Brahms' Lullaby. That actually calmed me down a bit, but I refused to lower my defenses til I learned that the spirit wasn't docile or violent. I heard a _slid_ ing sound and saw that something had been slid in front of my door.

"I promise I'll be good." Came the boy's sweet voice. "I hope you like it." I stared at the thing in front of my door and began to contemplate his words. What did he mean by 'I hope you like it'? I decided I'd put on a brave face and see what exactly the doll had done. I took a few calming breaths before I stood up and walked towards the door. My hand shook as I reached for the door knob and I opened the door, eyes glued to the floor. I gawked at the fact that there, on the ground before my door, was a sandwich served on a plate and platter. _**What...?**_ I looked into Brahms' room and saw the doll seated on the bed. I looked back towards the platter and smiled to myself before picking it up. I placed it on my bed and then grabbed the phone, putting it back on the bedside table. I turned around to enter Brahms' room. I knelt down before the doll and looked into his hazel eyes. My eyes left him only to fall on the rule sheet and then back at him.

"All of that for this?" I tilted my head. "Alright." I smiled towards the haunted doll. My hands cupped his face. "We'll start today, I promise. Just please, no more scares." I pressed my forehead against his. "My heart can't take the continual stress. I wouldn't want to kick the bucket and leave you alone before your parents got back." Before I could say anything else, the phone rang. "Be right back." I kissed his forehead. I picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Ronnie? It's Malcolm." I leaned against the table.

"Hey. Uh..." My voice trailed before I looked into Brahms' room. "It's odd... When I first came here, my boots went missing. Mrs. Heelshire said that Brahms took my boots, that he was playful. At first, I thought she was crazy..."

"Ronnie, are you OK? What about shoes? Have you misplaced your shoes?"

"No, it's not about my shoes..." I breathed.

"Uh, Ronnie, I'm not sure I understand, but I was just calling to - " Malcolm seemed genuinely confused, but it was to be expected.

"I have to go." I hung the phone up before making my way back to the doll. "I guess I was never alone, huh?" I picked him up. "I'll make us some supper and then we can watch a movie before I put you to bed. That sound good?" I picked him up and carried him into the kitchen. I put him on the counter under the cupboard with the dishes and began to contemplate what to make. I decided I'd make some bruschetta. Quick, easy, and healthy. I turned on the oven so I could toast the bread, pulled out a few bowls, and grabbed a knife. "I hope you don't mind some bruschetta for dinner. I know it isn't a hearty meal, but I don't want to make something big leaving us no time to watch the movie." I looked towards him and I smiled warmly before turning back towards the counter. I began to cut up the tomatoes and red onions. Once the oven was preheated, I cut the bread into four pieces, making a total of 20. I put the bread in the oven and turned to pull the bread out of the oven and yelped when my arm accidentally touched the oven rack. **_Owie..._** I put the tray on the counter and quickly pivoted to the sink. I ran the tap and held my burned skin under it, hissing at the contact. I felt eyes on me, though the doll's eyes hadn't moved. "I'll be OK, Brahms, it'll just be tender is all." I rubbed the doll's cheek. "I appreciate the concern, though." I smiled. When the burning sensation had ended, I went back to preparing the bruschetta. I finished them with a drizzle of olive oil on each slice. "And done." I stood proudly. I put half on a plate for me and the other half on a plate for him. "I imagine you'll probably eat after I've gone to bed, you being shy and all, but as long as you eat, I'm happy. In the mean time, I'll keep these in the fridge so the won't be rock hard and frozen solid when you go to eat them." I giggled before picking the doll up. I made my way back to my room and placed him on the bed, laying him down. "Now, I'm going to get dressed, Brahms. I'll be in the bathroom if you want or need anything, OK?" I kissed the forehead of the porcelain doll. I went over to my dresser and picked out a muscle shirt and a pair of boxers. "Be back in a few." With that said, I quickly shuffled into the bathroom, got dressed, and came back. Once I folded my clothes, I walked over to the bed, and reached under it. I pulled out my laptop and turned it on. "I hope you don't mind musicals, Brahms. I know your mother said music makes you calm. It does that for me too." I scanned my various files and clicked on the 2004  The Phantom of the Opera. Contrary to most people, I actually liked Gerard Butler's performance. I leaned my head against the doll's shoulder and made it full screen. Once the movie had finished, a yawn escaped my lips. I was far too sleepy to bring Brahms to his room, dress him, tell him a bedtime story, and tuck him in, but rules are rules. I forced myself to sit upright. "Alright, Brahms, time for bed." Another yawn left my lips. "It's past your bedtime, and I need sleep too. We have a routine to do." I sent him a sleepy smile before picking him up. When I placed him on the bed, I stumbled a bit as I went towards his dresser. "Oops." I grabbed his pajamas and walked back over to him. I undressed and redressed the doll and tucked him in. I climbed on his bed and laid beside him. "Once upon a time, there was a ballerina, a one-legged soldier, and a jack in the box in a toy store. The ballerina was incredibly mystifying and admired by both the soldier and the jack in the box." The story was one I had seen from Fantasia 2000. "One day, the soldier confronted the ballerina, and confessed his love for her. Before the ballerina could respond, the jack in the box showed up and knocked the soldier down to the ground. He had told the ballerina that he too loved her. But he frightened her, and he hurt the one she loved. She rejected the jack in the box's proposal and went to aid the soldier only to be grabbed, and taken away, by the jack in the box." I yawned but spoke on. "He took her to the highest shelf. He told her that she would be his, whether she wanted to or not. But she argued that that wasn't not right; a person should never be forced into a situation they don't wish to be part of. The soldier knew he had to save the ballerina from the dastardly jack in the box, and even with the height and him having one leg, he climbed. He had to save his beloved for he knew she was unhappy. That he could keep her safe and happy, or at least try to." I pulled the blanket up. "The soldier finally made it and, though he was exhausted, he challenged the jack in the box to a duel. Now the soldier had a chance because that's what he did, he fought. Swords _clash_ ed but in the end, the soldier defeated the jack in the box. The ballerina ran to him, thankful that he had saved her from the evil jack in the box, and confessed her love to him. From that day on, the one legged soldier and the beautiful ballerina lived happily ever after. The end." _**The soldier would have been my choice too.**_ I pushed myself from my laying position. "Good night, Brahms." I kissed his cheek. "See you in the morning." I got off the bed and left the room, walking towards my room. I heard floors _creak_. "Bed, Brahms." I said gently, though there was a tired sternness. I walked into my room, not bothering to close the door, and plopped on top of my bed. With little effort, I went under my blankets, and was out.


	6. Rules One Must Follow

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**  
-I DO NOT own _The Boy_ , it's characters, or it's storyline. _The Boy_ was directed by William Brent Bell, and written by Stacey Daley. I DO NOT own any of the music featured in my fanfictions. The lyrics/music belongs to their respected artists. I DO own Veronica "Ronnie" Stone, her story, and her concept. I DO own the cover images to my fanfictions; be them edits or drawings. Be respectful to my art and edits, and DO NOT steal them.  
- _ **Bold-italic**_ phrases will indicate Ronnie's thoughts or the thoughts of others while in their point of view. _Italic_ phrases will indicate a sound being made.  Underlined phrases will indicate the title of a movie, TV show, etc. When you see "..." it means that the point-of-view has shifted.  
-The song representing the story is "The Phantom of the Opera" by Sarah Brightman and Michael Crawford from the _The Phantom of the Opera_ Broadway performance. The song Ronnie sings to Brahms is "Brahms' Lullaby".

* * *

 **5.) Rules One Must Follow  
** ***  
Sing once again with me, our strange duet. My power over you, grows stronger yet. You'll give your love to me, for love is blind. The phantom of the opera is now your mastermind.  
***

 _ **Why must I keep doing that?**_ I felt awful about how I scared her. She had locked herself in her bedroom and now she's crying. I began to hit my head in a scolding manner. _**She won't stay if I continue to scare her.**_ The thought alone caused my heart to sink. I didn't want Ronnie to leave. No. I wanted her to stay here. With me. Mummy and daddy approved of her. I had to make her stay. I climbed out from the safety of the corridors hidden within the walls, and made my way into the kitchen. _**It couldn't be that hard to make a sandwich, could it?**_ I grabbed the bread and sliced it. With a butter knife, I slathered on some of the jam she brought. I unscrewed the lid to her oddly flavored - white chocolate - peanut butter. I applied a healthy amount of peanut butter and closed the sandwich. I cut in half, just as I know Ronnie liked it, and made my way back upstairs. From the moment I left to make the sandwich and returned, I hummed my favorite tune. I carefully _slid_ the tray in front of her door and retreated back into the walls. "I promise I'll be good." I spoke in the voice that was a pain, yet fun, to portray. "I hope you like it." Moments of silence passed before I heard her door open. I breathed a sigh of relief. The floor _creak_ ed telling me she was on her way into my bedroom.

"All of that for this?" Her lovely voice spoke, referring to the rule sheet - I assume, anyway. I loved hearing her voice; it was intoxicating. "Alright." A smile tugged at my lips. _**Good.**_ "We'll start today, I promise. Just please, no more scares." _**I wish I could promise such a thing, but given how easy she is to scare, and with my track record...**_ My eyebrows - what remained of them anyway - furrowed. _ **No.**_ _ **I have to be good. If she's going to follow the rules, it's only fair.**_ "My heart can't take the continual stress. I wouldn't want to kick the bucket and leave you alone before your parents got back." _ **No. We can't have that.**_ Before anything else could be said on the manner, the phone rang. "Be right back." The _creak_ ing floorboards told me she went to answer the phone. "Hello?" Silence. "Hey. Uh... It's odd... When I first came here, my boots went missing. Mrs. Heelshire said that Brahms took my boots, that he was playful. At first, I thought she was crazy..." _**Mummy isn't crazy.**_ I thought with a snort. "No, it's not about my shoes..." _**He won't believe her, and even if he did, he wouldn't understand.**_ "I have to go." She hung up the phone and went back to my room. "I guess I was never alone, huh?" _**No,**_ _ **I'm very much here.**_ A grin played on my lips. "I'll make us some supper and then we can watch a movie before I put you to bed. That sound good?" _**But that's not what is on the schedule.**_ I breathed a heavy breath. _**Ah well, she's just starting, and after the scare I gave her, she deserves a bit of leash room. At least for tonight.** **Besides, who knows. This night may go better than it already has.**_ The thought alone made me excited to see what she had in store. I wanted to speak up, but then she'd hear me, and if she hears me, she'll come looking for me. I want this to go on as long as I can, before giving myself away, just to see how well she does at taking care of me... Well, the Brahms doll. I followed her, through the walls, into the kitchen. She moved around the kitchen quickly; she seemed to have the placement of everything memorized now. "I hope you don't mind some bruschetta for dinner. I know it isn't a hearty meal, but I don't want to make something big leaving us no time to watch the movie." I didn't know what bruschetta was, but I trusted her. I leaned my head against the wall and listened, eyes closed. My heart seemed to skip a beat when I heard her yelp. _**What happened?**_ The sound of running water made things clearer: _**She burnt herself...**_ I thought solemnly. "I'll be OK, Brahms, it'll just be tender is all. I appreciate the concern, though." A moment passed and she was back to making dinner. I had to appreciate her tenacity, but I hoped she wasn't burnt too badly. "And done." The whole process took about fifteen minutes. Just what was bruschetta? "I imagine you'll probably eat after I've gone to bed, you being shy and all, but as long as you eat, I'm happy. In the mean time, I'll keep these in the fridge so the won't be rock hard and frozen solid when you go to eat them." Instead of heading towards the dining table, she, as well as I, went back to her bedroom. "Now, I'm going to get dressed, Brahms. I'll be in the bathroom if you want or need anything, OK?" She made her way towards her dresser, grabbing her desired bed wear. "Be back in a few." When she returned, there was a _creak_ from her bed. "I hope you don't mind musicals, Brahms. I know your mother said music makes you calm. It does that for me too." I sat on the flooring and listened to the movie she had chosen. I wasn't sure what it was, but I liked it. The music was expressive and the story was one that was relatable; I was the Phantom and Ronnie was Christine, in this instance anyway. _**I don't want to lose her, though.**_ The Phantom lost his beloved Christine; she neither loved him, nor did she want to stay with him. Drawing me from my thoughts was Ronnie's voice: "Alright, Brahms, time for bed." She yawned. "It's past your bedtime, and I need sleep too. We have a routine to do." She brought the doll back into my room. "Oops." I heard her stammer with a _scuff_ of her feet. Once she dressed the Brahms doll, and tucked in, I heard my bed _creak_. _**Is she... Is she laying on my bed?**_ My heart began to beat against my chest. "Once upon a time," Those words calmed me ever-so-slightly. "There was a ballerina, a one-legged soldier, and a jack in the box in a toy store. The ballerina was incredibly mystifying and admired by both the soldier and the jack in the box. One day, the soldier confronted the ballerina, and confessed his love for her. Before the ballerina could respond, the jack in the box showed up and knocked the soldier down to the ground. He had told the ballerina that he too loved her. But he frightened her, and he hurt the one she loved. She rejected the jack in the box's proposal and went to aid the soldier only to be grabbed, and taken away, by the jack in the box." I was liking this story, even though it also had a sense of familiarity to it, like that movie we watched - when it comes to my situation with Ronnie, of course. A yawn left her lips. "He took her to the highest shelf. He told her that she would be his, whether she wanted to or not. But she argued that that wasn't not right; a person should never be forced into a situation they don't wish to be part of. The soldier knew he had to save the ballerina from the dastardly jack in the box, and even with the height and him having one leg, he climbed. He had to save his beloved for he knew she was unhappy. That he could keep her safe and happy, or at least try to. The soldier finally made it and, though he was exhausted, he challenged the jack in the box to a duel. Now the soldier had a chance because that's what he did, he fought. Swords _clash_ ed but in the end, the soldier defeated the jack in the box. The ballerina ran to him, thankful that he had saved her from the evil jack in the box, and confessed her love to him. From that day on, the one legged soldier and the beautiful ballerina lived happily ever after. The end." _**I hope I will be her soldier...**_ I don't want her to leave. She causes me to feel a spectrum of different things, sometimes those things are questionable, but I would do anything to keep her here. Anything. My bed _creak_ ed. "Good night, Brahms." I heard a little kiss noise. How I envied that doll. "See you in the morning." She went towards her room. I followed, only causing the floorboards to _creak_. _**Damn.**_ "Bed, Brahms." Her tone was calm and sweet, but I could hear the stern tiredness in it. As soon as she was settled in her bed, and no movements were heard, I climbed out of the corridor. I had to see her, even if it was only for a moment. I quietly crept into her room and saw that she was under the blankets fast asleep. I walked towards the side of her bed and knelt down. Seeing her, up close and personal, was the most amazing thing. This, of course, was the second time I did it; the first time was a quick look before taking a keep sake - a clip of her hair for my Ronnie doll. Her skin was extremely fair, almost porcelain-like even, and her hair was a healthy thickness. _ **This time I'm going to take my time...**_ I reached out and gently caressed her cheek with my fingers. I loved the feeling of her skin under my calloused fingers. The feeling sent shock waves through my veins my body. Though my heart beat erratically, I didn't care. I continued to drag my fingers along her exposed skin. My movements ceased, however, when I my fingertips reached her collarbone. No, I didn't stop because I didn't want to see how far I could go, quite the contrary, but because of the fact that my body was showing signs of just how much I desired to have Ronnie. Not just to have her here, but have her. Her body. Her heart. Her everything as my own. It was uncomfortable because I knew I couldn't have my way with her til we met formally. I had to get away from her, as disheartening as it is, because if I didn't, I wouldn't be able to stop myself. _**In due time... Patience, Brahms.**_ I thought while easing myself into my bed. My hands loosened my trousers and I went to relieve myself of the discomfort my desire caused me. The only way I got through the situation was thinking about her, my pretty Veronica; her smile - kind and gentle, her smell - often peaches was her preferred essence, her voice - calm and full of life, her skin - soft and delicate... My back arched as a low groan hung in my throat. Once I was relieved, I turned on my side and nestled into my Ronnie doll. With one final pleasant thought, I found myself falling asleep: _**Soon.**_

...

I was woken by the _beep_ ing from my alarm clock. I went and had a quick shower before entering into Brahms' room. "It's time to wake up, Brahms." I leaned over him. "Time to start the day." I grabbed the doll under the arms and pulled him out from under the blankets. I sat him up on top of the blankets before grabbing his fresh clothes. Once I had him dressed, I picked him up, and left his bedroom. I made a quick detour to the living room so I could put on the record player, turning the music to almost it's maximum amount. When we arrived in the kitchen, I put him on the counter. "I was thinking I can make some french toast with scrambled eggs for breakfast. Something quick but hearty." Just as I leaned over to grab the frying pan, I heard a _knock_ on the wall. "I take it that's a yes?" I wondered with a smile pulling at my lips. Once again, there was a _knock_. _**If he can answer me like that, the better off my sanity will be.**_ I giggled at the thought. "Thanks, Brahms." I grabbed the frying pan and two plates. I walked over to the fridge and pulled out five eggs and the butter. I put the frying pan on the element and turned it onto medium-high heat. I put a spoon of butter and let it coat the pan. While that was happening, I scrambled the eggs and prepared the toast for it's egg soak. The preparation was quiet, but it was nice to know I wasn't alone here. I dipped the toast in the eggs and quickly dropped them into the pan. "French toast is my favorite kind of breakfast." I commented just because of how quiet it had gotten. I flipped the toast before I plating us a piece of french toast each. Once they were moved, I added the remainder of the eggs. "That was the first thing my friend Eliza made for me in America." I plated the cooked scrambled eggs. I walked over to the kettle and put it on the element for tea. As soon as it began to _hiss_ I took it off of the element. "I'll leave your tea black so you can dress it to your preference when you eat." I picked the Brahms doll up and moved him into the living room, seated at the head of the table. "I'll go grab my plate and tea. Be back in a jiffy." I winked towards the doll before walking back into the kitchen. "I'll put your plate in the fridge so you can eat it when you please. I doubt you want to eat overcooked eggs from having to reheat it." I called before waiting for a _knock_ of approval, which came immediately after. I put his plate in the fridge and went to grab my breakfast. I sat on Brahms' left side and began to indulge. During the meal, not many words were spoken, especially on his part. Hell, he didn't knock or anything, but I digress. Once I was finished, I put my dishes in the sink, and brought him into the living room. I eased us into the chair together, and began to read from  Jane Eyre \- chapter five, to be precise - as noted for today. I quickly glanced out the window. _**This is for you, mother.**_ I smiled at the thought before I focused on the pages.  
"Five o'clock had hardly struck on the morning of the 19th of January, when Bessie brought a candle into my closet and found me already up and nearly dressed. I had risen half-an-hour before her entrance, and had washed my face, and put on my clothes by the light of a half-moon just setting, whose rays streamed through the narrow window near my crib. I was to leave Gateshead that day by a coach which passed the lodge gates at six a.m. Bessie was the only person yet risen; she had lit a fire in the nursery, where she now proceeded to make my breakfast. Few children can eat when excited with the thoughts of a journey; nor could I. Bessie, having pressed me in vain to take a few spoonfuls of the boiled milk and bread she had prepared for me, wrapped up some biscuits in a paper and put them into my bag; then she helped me on with my pelisse and bonnet, and wrapping herself in a shawl, she and I left the nursery. As we passed Mrs. Reed's bedroom, she said, 'Will you go in and bid Missis good-bye?'  
'O Miss Jane! Don't say so!''Good-bye to Gateshead!' Cried I, as we passed through the hall and went out at the front door." I paused to turn the page.  
"The moon was set, and it was very dark; Bessie carried a lantern, whose light glanced on wet steps and gravel road sodden by a recent thaw. Raw and chill was the winter morning: my teeth chattered as I hastened down the drive. There was a light in the porter's lodge: when we reached it, we found the porter's wife just kindling her fire: my trunk, which had been carried down the evening before, stood corded at the door. It wanted but a few minutes of six, and shortly after that hour had struck, the distant roll of wheels announced the coming coach; I went to the door and watched its lamps approach rapidly through the gloom.  
'Is she going by herself?' asked the porter's wife.  
'Yes.'  
'And how far is it?'  
'Fifty miles.'  
'What a long way! I wonder Mrs. Reed is not afraid to trust her so far alone.'" Before I could continue on with my reading the phone _rang_. I looked up from the book and looked around, contemplating whether I should answer it. _**No. If someone needs me, they'll wait for me to call them.**_ I nodded and focused back on the book. I read onward until we finished chapter five. _**Alright, next activity.**_ I stretched my body out, earning some unpleasant, yet welcoming, _crack_ ing noises. Next, I brought Brahms towards the door, dressing myself in a coat, and bringing him outside. We walked around the vicinity of the manor, taking in the scenery and the nice weather. Well, nice meaning it wasn't raining. The remainder of the day passed quickly. I made some pasta for dinner and got Brahms ready for bed. After telling him another story, I pulled the blanket up, and sat beside him, on the edge of the bed. "Today was a good day; we got everything done." I smiled towards the doll. "Good night, Brahms." I kissed the porcelain cheek. I stood and leaned over him, turning off the night. I made my way over to the door and glanced back into the dark room. "See you in the morning." I closed the door behind me and breathed a tired breath. I made my way into my bedroom and collapsed on my bed, not caring to close the door or get dressed. I glanced towards the alarm clock and sighed. _**Tomorrow is another day.**_ With that thought, sleep came.


	7. Let's Play

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**  
-I DO NOT own _The Boy_ , it's characters, or it's storyline. _The Boy_ was directed by William Brent Bell, and written by Stacey Daley. I DO NOT own any of the music featured in my fanfictions. The lyrics/music belongs to their respected artists. I DO own Veronica "Ronnie" Stone, her story, and her concept. I DO own the cover images to my fanfictions; be them edits or drawings. Be respectful to my art and edits, and DO NOT steal them.  
- _ **Bold-italic**_ phrases will indicate Ronnie's thoughts or the thoughts of others while in their point of view. _Italic_ phrases will indicate a sound being made.  Underlined phrases will indicate the title of a movie, TV show, etc. When you see "..." it means that the point-of-view has shifted.  
-The song representing the story is "The Phantom of the Opera" by Sarah Brightman and Michael Crawford from the _The Phantom of the Opera_ Broadway performance. The song Ronnie sings to Brahms is "Brahms' Lullaby".

* * *

 **6.) Let's Play  
** ***  
Sing once again with me, our strange duet. My power over you, grows stronger yet. You'll give your love to me, for love is blind. The phantom of the opera is now your mastermind.  
***

Just as quickly as I fell asleep, I was woken by my alarm clock. The morning sun was peaking through my curtains. I felt as if I hadn't gotten any sleep, so, unlike yesterday, not a lot of words were spoken to Brahms. I sat in front of the piano with him. "I'm sorry for the lack of communication today, Brahms, I'm just exhausted..." _**I hope he understands...**_ "I've been haunted by a recurring nightmare, but this time it was different... Worse even." I heaved a heavy sigh. "No matter." I smiled down to the doll. "We have stuff that needs to be done, so..." I turned my attention back to the keyboard of the piano and began to tap the keys to  Brahms' Lullaby. "I hope my playing isn't too terrible..." I chuckled nervously. "I haven't played it in... Well, many years." My timing with the melody slowed as an anxious knot formed in my stomach.

"I didn't know you could play." I almost jumped out of my skin at the sound of Malcolm's voice. "Sorry." His charming voice murmured, him noting my unpleasant excited reaction. "I tried knocking."

"It's fine." I picked Brahms up and stood. "What brings you around?"

"You didn't answer the phone, so I thought I'd make a delivery early this week." I held the doll in my arms. "I can come back if you want." I shook my head. _**With Brahms being silent most of the time, contact with another person may be what my psyche needs to remain stable.**_

"No, it's OK. I just didn't expect company is all." I smiled warmly to the grocery man.

"Right. Well, I grabbed the mail on my way in." He looked at me oddly, causing me to retreat behind my bangs to hide the blush forming on my cheeks. "You sure you're OK?" _**I'm living in a home with a haunted doll, but I'm good otherwise.**_ I shook my head to collect myself and smiled.

"Yeah. I'm... I'm good, actually." I nodded before walking past him. "You can put those in the dish, I'll sift through them later." I mentioned before heading out of the room, Malcolm following suit. I made my way to the kitchen and put Brahms in a chair before pouring myself a cup of tea, and sat beside him.

"I see you and Brahms are getting along." I glanced towards the porcelain doll and smiled vaguely.

"Yeah... I guess we are." I grabbed an apple and began to peel it.

"Oh, I was thinking I might take you up on that night on the town. Dinner, drinks, dancing. I'll have you know I'm a legend in these parts for my dance moves." And there was that boyish charm. _**Gotta hand it to the guy, he's ambitious.**_ I smiled once more. **But I do have a job to do...** _**I just earned Brahms' trust. And if horror movies have taught me anything, you don't piss off a spirit - child or not.**_ I sighed and shook my head, my focus back on Malcolm.

"I appreciate the offer, Malcolm, but I have to politely decline." I looked down to my hands in sorrow.

"You're not..." I could feel his gaze leave me momentarily. "You're not worried about Brahms, are you? He doesn't mind, do you?" I looked towards Malcolm and saw him bent over in front of the doll. "'Ey, you old sod?  
''Course not, I was hoping she'd get out. I need some privacy. Watch some telly, have a nice bath, a little Brahms time.'" Malcolm manipulated his voice to sound younger, to speak for Brahms. I was amused but also knew not to trifle with ghosts. "Hey, yeah, good on you. High five." He held the dolls hand and high five'd it. I bit my bottom lip and looked at him, his gaze fell on me.

"Maybe some other time." I could see the disheartened look in his eyes. It was like a sucker punch to the gut. I avoided his eye contact. _**You wouldn't understand...**_

"Right. Another time." He stood up and grabbed his coat. "I best be off." He took the empty box and went to leave, stopping at the door. I shut my eyes. As soon as the door closed, I opened my eyes only to walk over to the window, pulling the curtain back a bit. I watched as Malcolm entered his car and started the engine before driving off.

"I'm sorry, Malcolm..." I heaved a heavy sigh and walked over to Brahms. I dragged my tea cup over and set it in front of him. "Dress your tea." I waited, but there was nothing. I felt defeated. "Please, Brahms, I need to know I'm not crazy..." I whimpered, my voice cracking ever-so-slightly. Yes, I had heard knocks before, but did I truly hear them, or was I so lonely I wanted to have company, even if it was a ghost? I sighed. "I need some air." I straightened my form and walked towards the door attached to the pantry. I opened the door and leaned against the door frame and took in several breaths. My heart skipped a beat when I heard a shuffling noise. I ran back into the kitchen and saw that the doll was gone. _**Oh... My god...**_ I walked towards the entryway of the kitchen and found Brahms sitting outside against the wall. _**Is this... Is this a game to him?**_ The thought alone entertained me. _**Best try it out.**_ "Alright, Brahms... You hide and I'll seek." I smiled towards him. "And when I'm ready, I'll knock on the wall." There was a _knock_ on the wall, no doubt Brahms saying 'game on!' or something like that. I giggled and went near the pantry exit. "Best start going!" I counted to sixty and then knocked on the wall. "Ready or not, here I come!" I darted out of the kitchen and began to search the house, stopping in Brahms' room, the doll seated on the bed. "Found you!" I hollered with a grin. "I'll be back, Brahms, I need to do something real quick." I smiled to myself before slowly creeping into my room. I picked up the phone and dialed Malcolm's number.

"Hello?"

"Malcolm..." My voice drifted.

"Ronnie?" I could hear the concern in his voice. _**He's so sweet.**_

"I need you to come here. Now." I informed while clutching the phone.

"Uh..." His voice dragged on. "Alright." I smiled and hung the phone on it's base. I sat on my bed and waited for Malcolm's arrival. Not too long after, I heard his car pull up front. I ran, stopping briefly at Brahms' room door, and ran onward. I opened the door to find Malcolm standing there. "What's wrong?" I grinned and pulled him inside.

"I needed someone else to see this. To know I'm not crazy." I closed the door behind him.

"See what?" I ran past him and up the three flights of stairs.

"He's alive."

"Who's alive?" I turned and faced Malcolm a top of the stairs.

"Brahms."

"Brahms is alive?" The chuckle in his tone was uncanny. He didn't believe me. _**He will.**_ I mentally assured myself.

"I know you must think I'm off my rocker, but it's true. Brahms is alive, in a manner of speaking." I stopped outside of Brahms' room. Malcolm peered in, looking from the doll to me skeptically. I picked Brahms up carefully and set him on the floor. "First we put him down, and then we leave the room." I walked out of Brahms' bedroom and closed the door. "Then we count to sixty, and then we knock." I began to count, with Malcolm's curious eyes on me the whole time, and then knocked.

"This is like, some kind of magic trick, right? You don't really think he's alive?" I shook my head at his skepticism.

"It's no trick." I opened the door and found he was still in the spot I put him in. _**You've got to be kidding me.**_

"It's OK, I think maybe we should sit down for a bit. Honestly, I think you're a bit tired." I knelt down beside Brahms.

"Please, Brahms, I know you're shy, but I need him to believe me..." I pleaded with the doll. "Do it for me... Please?"

"Ronnie, c'mon..." I felt Malcolm's hand on my back.

"One more chance, please?" I looked back at Malcolm. "If nothing happens, then I'm crazy, and I'll leave for the sake of my sanity or something." My chest was heavy as my eyes met his. He stared into my eyes, internally debating, and I walked past him.

"OK." He turned and left the room, I followed closely behind him. I counted to sixty once more and knocked on the wall. There was a silent _clang_ from behind the door. Malcolm turned and looked at me. A smile pulled at the edges of my lips and I rushed to open the door. Brahms had moved. I felt satisfied, so much so I began to giggle. "Where's he gone?"

"I couldn't tell you." I shrugged with a grin. "Like a child playing the game, he won't hide in the same place every time." I was so excited, I wrapped my arms around Malcolm's neck and hugged him.

"Jesus Christ." Malcolm laughed. He stopped spinning me, his body stiff as a board. "Woah, god." He exhaled. I opened my eyes and turned, that's when I saw him _**Huh...**_

"I guess he wanted to stay close this time." I giggled before picking up Brahms and sitting on his bed. "I knew something was up from the moment things started happening; the voices, the footsteps, my necklace going missing, and even some of my other things went missing." I looked at Malcolm. "But then I remembered you saying that Brahms was shy; that he didn't want people to see him, so if you leave him alone, things'll happen." I shook my head. "Who knew?" I leaned my head against Brahms'. "Last time I encountered a situation like this, like Brahms, I nearly died." I let loose a sigh. "A possessed doll didn't have a friendly spirit. No... She was possessed by a demonic entity." I glanced at him. "I was nine, and nearly drowned." _**But that's in the past. Brahms is different... Isn't he?**_


	8. The Truth

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**  
-I DO NOT own _The Boy_ , it's characters, or it's storyline. _The Boy_ was directed by William Brent Bell, and written by Stacey Daley. I DO NOT own any of the music featured in my fanfictions. The lyrics/music belongs to their respected artists. I DO own Veronica "Ronnie" Stone, her story, and her concept. I DO own the cover images to my fanfictions; be them edits or drawings. Be respectful to my art and edits, and DO NOT steal them.  
- _ **Bold-italic**_ phrases will indicate Ronnie's thoughts or the thoughts of others while in their point of view. _Italic_ phrases will indicate a sound being made.  Underlined phrases will indicate the title of a movie, TV show, etc. When you see "..." it means that the point-of-view has shifted.  
-The song representing the story is "The Phantom of the Opera" by Sarah Brightman and Michael Crawford from the _The Phantom of the Opera_ Broadway performance. The song Ronnie sings to Brahms is "Brahms' Lullaby".

* * *

 **7.) The Truth**

***  
Sing once again with me, our strange duet. My power over you, grows stronger yet. You'll give your love to me, for love is blind. The phantom of the opera is now your mastermind.  
***

I stood and walked Brahms into the kitchen, Malcolm close behind. I turned on the coffee machine and leaned against the edge of the island.

"It's bloody incredible, isn't it? I mean, we don't even know what we're dealing with here. Is it a ghost, some sort of trapped spirit, or - "

"Boy?" Malcolm looked at me in wonder. "Brahms is just a little boy."

"Yeah..." He nodded. "He is. He's lucky you came along." I shook my head. **_Not at all._**

"I wouldn't call it luck."

"Oh, what was it?"

"I believe it was fate; I'm meant to be here." His curious gaze returned. **_I guess I opened that door..._** "You know when you read my gum? How you saw a dark past? Well, your guess was right." I turned away from him and took in a deep breath. "My father... Well, he's not right in the head. Like, at all. He murdered my mother, in front of me, I might add, when I was four years old. He couldn't handle fatherhood well, and every time I 'got out of hand', so to speak, he'd beat me." I clenched my fists. "Among other things." I sighed. "I was rescued by some gypsies when I was eight and lived with them til I was nineteen. I had to get away because bad things would happen to the gypsy folk in the clan, either by my father or by a hired hand, and I had to leave for their safety. That's when I moved to America." I turned around and faced him. "Later I found work at a store, and then I was hired for this job. So, you see, I know what it's like to have your childhood stripped from you." I smiled vaguely. "It's what ties me to Brahms." Malcolm walked over to me, hands on my shoulders. "Does that make sense at all?" My eyes met his.

"Yeah... It does. But, whatever the reason, I'm happy you ended up here."

"I am too." He leaned in to kiss me but I turned my head, planting a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you." I smiled at him. "Now... How about some dinner?" I turned away from him. I pulled out some chicken breasts, rice, and spinach. After the hearty meal, as per my normal routine, I put Brahms' plate in the fridge and washed the other dishes. Once those were done, I went to get Brahms ready for bed. I dressed him, tucked him in, told him the story about The Great Mouse Detective, and said a prayer. "Gentle Jesus, weak and wild, look upon a gentle child. Pity my simplicity, suffer me, I come to thee. God bless mummy. God bless daddy. God bless Ronnie. God bless me." I laid my head against the doll's forehead. "You were a good boy today, I'm so proud of you." I kissed the porcelain lips. "Good night, Brahms, sweet dreams." I pushed myself off the bed and left to my bedroom. I closed the door behind me and sat on my bed. **_What to do now?_** Malcolm sat beside me and brushed my bangs from my face. My heart was beating against my chest. Did I want to get intimate with Malcolm? Was I ready? I shook my head. I liked the guy, but were we going too fast? I mean, we hadn't even gone on an official date yet. But, he has helped me a lot, and has been here for me when I needed someone. Before anything else could happen, the record player went on, blasting the music that was on the vinyl. He pulled away, his gaze reflecting anger and curiosity. We both stood and made our way into the living room. The Brahms doll was seated in front of the record player, staring blankly into space. "Brahms..." I breathed a sigh before walking over to him. Malcolm went over to the record player and turned it off. My blue eyes met the doll's dead hazel ones. "You'll damage your ears if you have it that loud." I never played it to the full volume.

"What's going on here?" My eyes stared beyond the doll, a slight annoyance expressed in them. **_Really?_**

"It's late, Brahms." I kissed his forehead. "Back to bed." I turned and saw Malcolm looking at me, as if to silently question my sanity. Did he forget what happened earlier today? I rolled my eyes and turned around so I could bring Brahms back to his room. Once there, I pulled back the covers and put him back in bed. I tucked him in and sat beside him. "What's wrong, Brahms?" I pushed some of the doll's hair from it's face. "Couldn't sleep?" I looked at him analytically, but then it hit. "Ah, right." I smiled half-heartedly. "'No guests'." I sighed before pressing my forehead against his. "I'll send him off, just... Give me a little while longer. It's nice having human contact. I need that." **_I miss it._** "If you were here, in the flesh, I'd have all the company I'd need." I giggled. "Good night." I kissed his forehead. I pushed off of the bed and went downstairs. Malcolm had entered into the kitchen, and I decided I would make some coffee. "Sorry about that." I muttered before pouring us a cup of coffee each. I dressed my coffee, then brought both cups to the table and sat, staring into the liquid before me.

"Given everything that's happened, I think it'd be wise if you stayed in town tonight, OK?" Malcolm finally spoke. I turned my head slightly and glanced towards him. "What just happened; that music, that wasn't..." His voice trailed.

"It was Brahms acting out. A tantrum." I looked at him as he took a seat beside me. "Nothing more."

"I understand that this means a lot to you, Ronnie, and that you and Brahms share a connection, but let's just take a step back, get some perspective - "

"That's unnecessary." I interrupted. "It's obvious what it was, and, to be honest, it makes sense. I don't hold it against him." I sighed before my eyes fell back on my cup. "The Heelshires made rules; rules that should be respected, rules I'm responsible to maintain." I took a sip of my coffee. "They chose me, they'd want me to stay here. With Brahms; to take care of him." My eyes made contact with Malcolm's.

"Oh, god." He glanced around as if trying to make sense of everything. He seemed rather lost. His hand made it's way to the back of his head, and began to run through his short black hair. "I should have told you this before..." I tilted my head, questioning him. **_Told me what?_** "But, I didn't want to scare you." **_What would he tell me that could possibly scare me?_** "A little girl from town used to come out here once a week to play with Brahms, Emily Cribbs," **_The little girl from the photos?_** "And on his birthday, she comes up and never makes it home." With those words, my chest tightened. ** _Wh... What could have happened to her?_ ** "They finally found her body in the woods; her skull had been crushed. Police called the Heelshires to let them know that Brahms would need to be questioned. By the time they arrived, the place was already up in flames. The Heelshires make it out, but Brahms was never counted for." My eyes were focused on him, not that I could look away. I was that in awe.

"Did they find her killer?" I managed to squeeze out.

"No, they never did." I bit the inside of my bottom lip. **_Malcolm said that Mr. Heelshire said Brahms was odd, but a killer?_ ** "What I'm saying is, if you're right, if this thing is some kind of spirit or ghost or... I don't even know! I'm not sure that it is the good kind." I could understand Malcolm's paranoia, and, to be honest, it's something that had crossed my mind. If Brahms throws tantrums, is he capable of hurting, or killing, someone? I tore my gaze away from his.

"You said that was just pub talk, though." I commented with a shallow breath.

"But what if it isn't?" I had to consider his claim. If there is a chance that Brahms had killed that little girl, then he could be capable of killing another. I shook my head. **_No. I just don't want to believe it._** Said every victim from a supernatural horror movie.

"I know he wouldn't hurt me, I know it." Another cliche line, but I wanted to believe it. So far, Brahms has been pretty good; a bit rocky with the supernatural activity, but otherwise well behaved. If he were evil, bad things would have started happening earlier, when I had trusted him. That's what they do, right? They earn your trust and then kill you. A heavy sigh left my lips.

"I just... It's not safe in this house." **_The only time there's a problem is when rules aren't followed, or they're neglected._** I drank down the rest of my coffee and brought my cup to the sink.

"I appreciate your concern, but I'm not leaving." I was adamant about it, too. His eyes fell on me.

"OK..." He heaved a heavy sigh before standing. "Well, be safe, Ronnie." He stood in front of me. Our eyes met. "I'm always a call away." I smiled vaguely.

"Thanks. Good night." He lingered for a moment and then turned to leave. Once the front door closed, I let loose a sigh. With a yawn, I made my way upstairs, stopping outside of Brahms' room. I crept in and sat beside him. I wore a weak smile before brushing hair from his face. "Sweet dreams, Brahms." I went to give him another kiss but lingered above him. "You would never hurt me, would you, Brahms?" I shook my head. **_No. If he wanted to, he would have done it. There's been endless opportunities._** I smiled and pushed away from him. I made my way back into my bedroom and got dressed. I nestled myself under the blankets and waited to drift off into sleep. One final thought ran through my head: **_Odihnește-te în pace, Emily._**

...

 ** _I can't believe he's still here!_** I was furious. Malcolm came by unexpectedly, not only once, but twice! He came to see Ronnie. MY Ronnie! Why couldn't he leave well enough alone?! Why can't he just make his deliveries and stay away?! My teeth ground together. The only peace I had gotten from this ordeal was that Ronnie continued with her duties, with or without him being here. I was amused, however, when he complimented how lucky I was to have here here. He was right: I am lucky to have Ronnie here. But hearing about her past... That caused me to feel a mix of anger and sorrow, but mostly a burning rage. Her father not only killed her mother in front of her, but he hurt her and did... Well, I don't know what - whatever she meant by 'among other things' - but it obviously wasn't something good, especially since it followed him hurting her; it had to be much worse than that. After Ronnie put the doll to rest, I crept out of the corridor and found Ronnie had gone into her room. Was Malcolm gone? I knelt down and peeked through the keyhole. My jaw clenched, my teeth grinding together. I was livid as I saw that Malcolm was not only still here, but he was touching Ronnie inappropriately. A low growl hung in my throat. _**How dare he touch her! She's mine! Mummy and daddy said so in that letter to me!**_ I didn't know how else to respond, without violence, so I went into my bedroom, brought the doll downstairs, and blasted the music before retreating into the safety of the corridors. I heard Ronnie and Malcolm enter into the living room. "Brahms..." Ronnie breathed. The music was shut off, but I don't know by whom. **_Music calms me._** I thought bitterly. **_They both know that._** "You'll damage your ears if you have it that loud." I snorted in debate, arms crossed over my chest. **_It was brilliant. A perfect distraction; it kept Malcolm from touching you._** I had seen how uncomfortable she was.

"What's going on here?"

"It's late, Brahms." Ronnie informed. **_Useless sod._** My bitter thought was aimed at the grocery man. "Back to bed." I heard Ronnie's feet move from the living room, so I followed her to the walls in my room. "What's wrong, Brahms?" Ronnie's gentle voice asked. "Couldn't sleep?" _**No. It's him.**_ I thought bitterly. "Ah, right. 'No guests'." Well, she wasn't wrong, but Malcolm was playing in the wrong sandbox, so to speak. "I'll send him off, just... Give me a little while longer. It's nice having human contact. I need that." My heart sank at her request. Something so small, so simple. **_Alright, but if he touches you..._** "If you were here, in the flesh, I'd have all the company I'd need." My heart skipped a beat. **_That's right... She wouldn't need anyone else._** I relished the thought. She and I could be happy together, but I couldn't bring myself to come out of hiding. I mean, look at me? I wasn't a little boy anymore. Not in body, anyway. A giggle left her lips. "Good night." She then proceeded back downstairs, and ended up in the kitchen. "Sorry about that." She stirred her cup and then pulled a chair to sit at the table.

"Given everything that's happened, I think it'd be wise if you stayed in town tonight, OK?" A frown pulled at my lips. **_She's not going anywhere._** "What just happened; that music, that wasn't..."

"It was Brahms acting out. A tantrum. Nothing more." Ronnie rationalized. I was soothed ever-so-slightly.

"I understand that this means a lot to you, Ronnie, and that you and Brahms share a connection, but let's just take a step back, get some perspective - "

"That's unnecessary. It's obvious what it was, and, to be honest, it makes sense. I don't hold it against him." I smiled at her words. **_She understands me._** "The Heelshires made rules; rules that should be respected, rules I'm responsible to maintain. They chose me," **_Well, technically they brought you here, I was the one who chose you._** "They'd want me to stay here. With Brahms; to take care of him." **_That is what they want._**

"Oh, god." Malcolm breathed. "I should have told you this before, but I didn't want to scare you." His voice trailed. I had a feeling what he was going to say could put a damper on this situation, but I couldn't do anything without being heard. "A little girl from town used to come out here once a week to play with Brahms, Emily Cribbs, and on his birthday, she comes up and never makes it home. They finally found her body in the woods; her skull had been crushed." I turned away. **_She was going to leave me, on my birthday no less..._** I rationalized mentally. "Police called the Heelshires to let them know that Brahms would need to be questioned. By the time they arrived, the place was already up in flames. The Heelshires make it out, but Brahms was never counted for." **_I was here, but not seen._**

"Did they find her killer?" Ronnie asked with a weary tone. **_Please don't be scared of me... I had to._**

"No, they never did. What I'm saying is, if you're right, if this thing is some kind of spirit or ghost or... I don't even know!" **_I'm very much alive._** "I'm not sure that it is the good kind."

"You said that was just pub talk, though." Ronnie tried to rationalize. I tilted my head. **_There's pub talk of me?_** Pub talk is kind of like rumors, only sometimes, there's more truth in it than lies.

"But what if it isn't?"

"I know he wouldn't hurt me, I know it." She had so much faith in me, too bad nothing can be promised.

"I just... It's not safe in this house." **_The only thing making it unsafe is your being here. Things were going just fine before you decided to show up. Unexpected, might I add._**

"I appreciate your concern, but I'm not leaving." My rage was once again eased as a smile crept across my lips. **_I'm glad._**

"OK... Well, be safe, Ronnie. I'm always a call away."

"Thanks. Good night." The sound of feet shuffled towards the main entrance before the door closed, and there was silence. Moments passed and then a yawn left Ronnie's lips. She made her way back upstairs, with me close behind, and entered my room. "Sweet dreams, Brahms." I rested my head against the wall and smiled. She didn't go towards the door after giving the doll another kiss. I tilted my head in wonder. "You would never hurt me, would you, Brahms?" I shook my head. _**I want to keep you safe**._ My eyes went cold. _**By any means necessary.**_ She left my room and went into hers. A few moments later her bed _creak_ ed as she got comfortable in her bed. **_Best I go to bed, too..._** But first, I needed to eat supper. I made my way back down to the kitchen, climbing out of the corridor. I grabbed my plate and put it in the microwave. I heated up the leftovers and indulged. How I loved her cooking; her meals had more flavors than mummy's. I sighed happily as I looked at my empty plate. I looked up the the roof, as if to look to the skies. **_Ronnie is here. She's chosen to stay. With me._** I smiled. I washed my plate and put it away before retreating into the corridors. I made my way to my living space and cuddled into the Ronnie doll. I couldn't wait to find the courage to see her, face to face, and hold her in my arms. **_Sweet dreams, pretty Ronnie._** Was the last thought to cross my mind before I succumbed to slumber.


	9. The Uninvited Guest

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**  
-I DO NOT own _The Boy_ , it's characters, or it's storyline. _The Boy_ was directed by William Brent Bell, and written by Stacey Daley. I DO NOT own any of the music featured in my fanfictions. The lyrics/music belongs to their respected artists. I DO own Veronica "Ronnie" Stone, her story, and her concept. I DO own the cover images to my fanfictions; be them edits or drawings. Be respectful to my art and edits, and DO NOT steal them.  
- _ **Bold-italic**_ phrases will indicate Ronnie's thoughts or the thoughts of others while in their point of view. _Italic_ phrases will indicate a sound being made.  Underlined phrases will indicate the title of a movie, TV show, etc. When you see "..." it means that the point-of-view has shifted.  
-The song representing the story is "The Phantom of the Opera" by Sarah Brightman and Michael Crawford from the _The Phantom of the Opera_ Broadway performance. The song clip Ronnie sings is "Warrior" by Demi Lovato. And yes, I know "Warrior" is a newer song, but I find it fitting to how Ronnie feels, so I'm sticking with it.  
-'Copil' is Romanian for 'child'.

* * *

 **8.) The Uninvited Guest  
** ***  
Sing once again with me, our strange duet. My power over you, grows stronger yet. You'll give your love to me, for love is blind. The phantom of the opera is now your mastermind.  
***

The next day was just like yesterday; I woke up, showered, 'woke up' Brahms, made breakfast, and read to him. The only thing I did differently in the afternoon routine was going outside to clean the rodent traps. Unlike the last time I did it, I was alone in the task; Mr. Heelshire wasn't here to tell me if I was doing a job well done. None of them were. I did have to wonder where they went, and if they were enjoying themselves. I opened the hatch to the last trap and dumped the carcass into the black garbage bag. I let loose a heavy sigh, and wiped my forehead. "Whew." _**Done.**_ I smiled to myself. I grabbed the black plastic bag and twisted the 'neck', and knotted it. I walked over to the Brahms doll and knelt in front of him. "Are you as hungry as I am?" I grinned. "I'll make us some pancakes." I picked him up and carried him, and the bag, to the kitchen entrance, dropping the bag at the door. When we were inside, I took off Brahms' shoes and jacket, then proceeded with my own. Once that was done, I picked him up and sat him on the cupboard. I washed my hands and began to make dinner. I diced up some vegetables, turned on the element, and oiled a frying pan. "There's a part of me I can't get back, a little girl grew up too fast." I dropped the vegetables into the pan and let them cook. "All it took was once, I'll never be the same. Now I'm taking back my life today; nothing left that you can say, 'cause you are never gonna take the blame anyway." I moved them around so they could cook evenly. "Now I'm a warrior; I've got thicker skin. I'm a warrior; I'm stronger than I've ever been." I plated the stir fried vegetables. "And my armor, is made of steel, you can't get in. I'm a warrior; and you can never hurt me again." I heard _clap_ ping from the living room. My face flushed and a smile crossed my lips. _**Malcolm.**_ I picked Brahms up and walked towards the living room. "Malcolm?" I froze as soon as I stood at the door way. It wasn't Malcolm sitting in the chair. _**Father...**_ My chest became tight and I found I was paralyzed. All I could do was hold onto the Brahms doll as tightly as I could, finding even just a bit of comfort from it.

"I hope you don't mind my intruding, copil, I just had to see you again." A smirk hung on his smug lips. He pushed himself from the chair and walked towards me. He was just as I remembered him; slicked back salt and pepper hair, hunter green eyes, full faced, and husky in stature. "Malcolm wouldn't be your boyfriend, would he?" His playful tone had shifted to a fierce, stern one, causing me to wince. The tone was something I heard a lot during my time with him; when it wasn't that tone, it was seductive. A shiver clawed at my spine. "You know I don't like to share." He spoke as his hand caressed my cheek; his smugness had returned. Father was always possessive over his things. "And this must be little Brahms." He nodded towards the doll. "Eliza spoke briefly about him." My chest tightened. _**He saw Eliza...**_ My nerves were shot at this point. When he 'meets' with people, it doesn't end well. I was too terrified to get teary eyed. All functions that my body would naturally do were inactive. I was a deer in the headlights, so to speak. He weaved around me and looked at the doll, immediately bursting into ridiculing laughter. "The Heelshires must've been mad!" I winced as his arms slammed around my head. "Don't tell me you left your little friend for a doll?" His face came close to mine.

"Th... They pay me to look after him." All I could do was shrink against the door, as his tall stature hovered over top of me.

"Well," He smirked. "I guess I have nothing to worry about then." His hand gripped my jaw. "No one will know I ever came because there will be no witnesses." My eyes widened at his words. His smirk grew but he pushed away from me. I used the wall for support as I sat Brahms down.

"W... What do yo... You mean? E... Eliza should kn... Know I'm he... Here." He tilted his head towards me.

"She did, but she's no longer a problem. If only the girl would have co-operated." He shrugged. I felt my blood run cold. _**No...**_ Tears gathered in my eyes. _**She's dead...**_ I looked at him, terrified. Not just for what he has done, but what he plans to do next. "I heard the sizzle of a pan during your performance. Perhaps we could have a family dinner, copil." I knew it wasn't a request. I nodded solemnly and picked Brahms up before leading him to the kitchen. I placed Brahms at the dining table, plated another plate for father, poured him a drink of scotch, and lead him to where we were to dine. "Following those gypsies was the best plan I had ever had." He said as he pointed his fork at me. "They spoke about Eliza, and she lead me to you."

"And now you have me." I spoke quietly, defeated even. "So what will you do to me this time?" I asked in an empty tone. I knew that he would have a lot of anger and a certain type of frustration bottled up, but I didn't know when it'd happen, or how bad I'd get it. My eyes looked up to him. He took a sip from his scotch and smiled maliciously at me.

"My dear, Veronica, whatever gave you the impression that I have anything planned? Nothing I ever do is planned; it's all spur of the moment." A shudder shook my body, which only seemed to satisfy him more. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out an envelope. He opened it and placed it before me. "Speaking of spur of the moment, our flight leaves tomorrow morning. I'm taking you back to Romania."

"Hello?" Came Malcolm's voice. Father's attitude quickly shifted to rage. _**Oh no...**_ Malcolm walked into the entry way and stopped, looking in. "Sorry to drop in on you."

"It's OK..." I muttered quietly before pushing myself up from my chair. "This is Malcolm."

"Malcolm?"

"He delivers the groceries." I looked away from them, my eye contact being on the doll that sat beside me.

"Nice to meet you." Malcolm said offering his hand towards my father's.

"What is your opinion on this... Doll stuff?" Father asked him.

"You know, I try not to get involved in other people's business." Malcolm informed, a slight irritation hanging in his tone. Father chuckled.

"Smart man." He complimented.

"I have that delivery if you've got the inventory list."

"Be right back." I nodded meekly, walking past father and Malcolm, into the kitchen.

"Who the hell is he and what is he doing here?" Malcolm whispered to me.

"He's my father, and he just showed up." My chest became tight. "He found out my location after... After..." I couldn't voice it; if I voice it, it'll only be that more real.

"Well, he has to leave. You can't actually let him stay here."

"I'm not letting him do anything." I spoke honestly. "However, he's here and he plans on bringing me back to Romania." I turned away from him as I hugged my arms.

"That's not going to happen." Malcolm placed his hands on my shoulders. "I couldn't live knowing I let him hurt you." I shut my eyes. _**I want to say he won't, but he knows my history.**_

"I'll be alright." I turned to face him, a weary smile holding on my lips. "I'm not a child anymore." He let loose a heavy sigh. "I'll think of something." Before we could say anymore, father walked up to us. "Seems you got everything, as per the usual, Malcolm, thank you." I smiled to him. We exchanged nods and he turned towards my father.

"Pleasure meeting you." I could tell that his words were empty; he didn't find any pleasure in meeting my father. He shook his hand.

"Likewise." Though he accepted the hand shake, his undertone basically said 'get lost'.

"Have a good evening." Malcolm said turning from my father to me, before turning to leave and walking away. Once the door closed, father turned his attention on me, his hunter green eyes turning fierce.

"Should I be worried?" His tone was stern and cold.

"A... About Malcolm?" I shook my head. "No." I went to walk past him only for him to grip my arm.

"I'd hate to see your little friend get hurt." My eyes fell on him. "God forbid he ends up like Eliza." My blood ran cold, my chest tightened, and my eyes grew wide. _**He... He did kill her.**_ I nodded anxiously and waited for him to release my arm. "Be a good girl and get some linens for me to sleep on." I nodded obediently and rushed to the linen closet. I grabbed a blanket and a spare pillow case before turning to my room and grabbing one of the spare pillows. I returned as quickly as I could so I could leave him that much sooner. Once I entered into the living room, I approached him with the things I grabbed.

"Here you go, father." I damn near whispered, as I avoided eye contact.

"Good girl." He spoke simply before accepting the items. "I would prefer to have company, though." A despicably playful pout captured his bottom lip.

"I... If you're uncomfortable, I... I can get you mo - "

"This'll do, copil." I walked over to the Brahms doll. "Good. I don't need that hideous thing around me while I sleep." He said beating his pillow to his preferred comfort. I bent over and picked it up.

"I figured as much." I held the doll close to me.

"It's creepy as fuck." I went to leave the room only to have father grip my arm once more. "Things got... Messy last time we were together, but things had to be done. You understand that; tell me." He subtly demanded. _**No, I don't. You hurt and killed innocent people for selfish gain.**_ His grip got tighter. I yelped in response.

"I... I..." I whimpered, my eyes rimming with tears. He pushed me back trapping me between the pool table and him.

"Tell me." His arms gripped my arms tightly.

"I understand... Gods, I understand." I cried.

"I'm not letting you go. Never again, you hear?" I nodded with tears in my eyes, and prayed he'd let go of me. He huffed at my response, knowing it's the best he'd get, and released me. He grabbed my chin. "You will have your things packed and ready come morning, am I understood?" Green clashed with blue, but again, all I could do was nod. He took a step back and I left the room. I walked up to the third floor, and walked inside Brahms' room, only to close the door and collapse onto the ground, the doll held tightly against my body. At that point, I couldn't stop the tears that fell. _ **Everyone I ever loved was been taken away by him...**_


	10. The Real Brahms

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**  
-I DO NOT own _The Boy_ , it's characters, or it's storyline. _The Boy_ was directed by William Brent Bell, and written by Stacey Daley. I DO NOT own any of the music featured in my fanfictions. The lyrics/music belongs to their respected artists. I DO own Veronica "Ronnie" Stone, her story, and her concept. I DO own the cover images to my fanfictions; be them edits or drawings. Be respectful to my art and edits, and DO NOT steal them.  
- _ **Bold-italic**_ phrases will indicate Ronnie's thoughts or the thoughts of others while in their point of view. _Italic_ phrases will indicate a sound being made.  Underlined phrases will indicate the title of a movie, TV show, etc. When you see "..." it means that the point-of-view has shifted.  
-The song representing the story is "The Phantom of the Opera" by Sarah Brightman and Michael Crawford from the _The Phantom of the Opera_ Broadway performance.

* * *

 **9.) The Real Brahms  
** ***  
Sing once again with me, our strange duet. My power over you, grows stronger yet. You'll give your love to me, for love is blind. The phantom of the opera is now your mastermind.  
***

Ronnie's voice was naturally beautiful, but the sound of her singing voice? I was captivated. It may not be ideal for everyone, since most people like auto-tune - or whatever it's called - but her's was raw and full of emotion, and she was singing for me. I let loose a gentle sigh before resting my forehead against the wall. After she finished, there was a _clap_ ping from the distance, and I couldn't bite back the growl that escaped my lips. Ronnie left to follow the _clap_ ping and I did too. "Malcolm?" She called. _**It better not be.**_ Wait, mummy and daddy weren't coming back, so who else could it be? I shook my head and pressed my ear against the wall.

"I hope you don't mind my intruding, copil, I just had to see you again." Came an unfamiliar male voice. The accent sounded foreign, but the English was mastered. "Malcolm wouldn't be your boyfriend, would he?" A frown painted my lips. _**In his dreams.**_ I thought bitterly. "You know I don't like to share." A huff left my lips. _**You won't touch her.**_ I came to realize that Ronnie was unusually quiet. _**If only I could see what's going on...**_ "And this must be little Brahms." _**He must be talking about the doll.**_ "Eliza spoke briefly about him." I tilted my head. _**Right, that's the friend Ronnie has in America.**_ "The Heelshires must've been mad!" _**They most certainly were not!**_ I thought with a growl. "Don't tell me you left your little friend for a doll?"

"Th... They pay me to look after him." My frustration left momentarily as soon as I could hear the tone in Ronnie's voice. _**She's scared.**_ My jaw clenched. **_He's scaring her._**

"Well, I guess I have nothing to worry about then. No one will know I ever came because there will be no witnesses." My eyes widened. _**He killed Ronnie's friend?**_

"W... What do yo... You mean? E... Eliza should kn... Know I'm he... Here."

"She did, but she's no longer a problem. If only the girl would have co-operated." That said it, he did kill her. "I heard the sizzle of a pan during your performance. Perhaps we could have a family dinner, copil." There was that word again. 'Copil'. What did it mean? I shook my head before following them into the kitchen. "Following those gypsies was the best plan I had ever had. They spoke about Eliza, and she lead me to you." _**Gypsies?**_ I tilted my head. **_How would Ronnie know any gypsies?_**

"And now you have me." Her voice was meek like a mouse. "So what will you do to me this time?" _**That's right. Her father hurt her when she was little.**_ I shook my head. _**He wouldn't dare hurt her now. Not here. Not around me.**_

"My dear, Veronica, whatever gave you the impression that I have anything planned? Nothing I ever do is planned; it's all spur of the moment. Speaking of spur of the moment, our flight leaves tomorrow morning. I'm taking you back to Romania." A growl left my lips in debate. _**She's not going anywhere with you.**_

"Hello?" Malcolm's voice called. Admittedly, I was a smidge thankful; he could protect her while I cannot. "Sorry to drop in on you."

"It's OK..." She muttered. "This is Malcolm."

"Malcolm?" Her father pondered.

"He delivers the groceries." _**And has a habit of thinking you belong to him, but who's keeping track of that.**_ I thought with a snort.

"Nice to meet you."

"What is your opinion on this... Doll stuff?" Her father asked.

"You know, I try not to get involved in other people's business." _**Yet you do. A nasty habit, if I may say so.**_

"Smart man."

"I have that delivery if you've got the inventory list." I tilted my head. _**Delivery?**_ Then it hit. _**He's trying to get her away from him.**_ I nodded. _**Smart.**_

"Be right back."

"Who the hell is he and what is he doing here?" Malcolm whispered.

"He's my father, and he just showed up. He found out my location after... After..." She struggled with wording it because, I assume, she doesn't want to acknowledge the reality of it.

"Well, he has to leave. You can't actually let him stay here." _**And you can leave with him.**_

"I'm not letting him do anything. However, he's here and he plans on bringing me back to Romania." I folded my arms across my chest. _**He's not bringing you anywhere.**_

"That's not going to happen. I couldn't live knowing I let him hurt you." _**You and me both.**_

"I'll be alright." Seems she had trouble believing that, too. "I'm not a child anymore. I'll think of something." She claimed. "Seems you got everything, as per the usual, Malcolm, thank you."

"Pleasure meeting you."

"Likewise."

"Have a good evening." Malcolm said before taking off. _**One down, one to go.**_

"Should I be worried?"

"A... About Malcolm? No." Once more she sounded terrified. Then again, I couldn't blame her. She didn't know I was here and capable of protecting her.

"I'd hate to see your little friend get hurt. God forbid he ends up like Eliza." _**There's his confession, as clear as can be.**_ "Be a good girl and get some linens for me to sleep on." She was gone and back like that.

"Here you go, father."

"Good girl. I would prefer to have company, though." I wanted to bash his head in at his not-so-subtle hint. Then I was hit with an epiphany. _**Did... Did he do inappropriate things with her? Is that what she meant when she said 'among other things'?**_ I was appalled at the idea; disturbed even. Who would do such impure things with their child? The thought alone made me gag.

"I... If you're uncomfortable, I... I can get you mo - "

"This'll do, copil." The was a _creak_ in the floors before he spoke again. "Good. I don't need that hideous thing around me while I sleep." _**Why do people think the doll is ugly?**_ I shook my head. _**It's a doll version of me.**_ I would never understand.

"I figured as much."

"It's creepy as fuck." The _creak_ ing floorboards told me that Ronnie was making her way to leave the room. **_Good. Get away from the evil man._** "Things got... Messy last time we were together, but things had to be done. You understand that; tell me." A yelp escaped her lips. My calm-ish demeanor changed, and teeth ground together. _**He's hurting her.**_

"I... I..." By the sounds of things, she was on the verge of tears. That only added gas to my fire.

"Tell me."

"I understand... Gods, I understand." A sob left Ronnie's lips. It took all I had to keep myself from busting through the wall and beating his face in.

"I'm not letting you go. Never again, you hear? You will have your things packed and ready come morning, am I understood?" The next thing that could be heard was the _creak_ ing of the floors as Ronnie went upstairs. When we got upstairs, she closed my bedroom door behind her and began to cry. _**That man will die for hurting my Ronnie.**_

...

Quite some time passed before I forced myself to stand. I was too worn out and too emotionally exhausted to dress Brahms, so I laid him on the bed and cuddled up beside him. "Don't worry, Brahms," I rested my head against his. "I don't plan on leaving you." I nuzzled my nose into the false hair. "But he will try to make me. By any means necessary." My hand clutched his arm as I held him tighter. "Please help me..." A soft whimper left my lips. With all the energy I forked out today, I lost consciousness.

...

She didn't have to ask me twice; I was more than happy to oblige, especially since it would mean she'd stay. I waited for her to fall asleep before I made my move. As soon as the house was still, I made my way through the corridors, climbing out near the door leading out. I went to the rodent disposal and grabbed several fresh - well, fresher - rat carcasses. I walked back inside with them and punctured holes into their flesh, emptying what blood I could get out of them and into a bowl. I walked back into the living room where Ronnie's father laid sleeping. I wished, desperately, to kill him then and there, but it would happen in due time. First, I had to scare him. I smirked beneath the mask. _**Yes... You will pay.**_ I put the three rats on his shoes, and went to write my message. Carefully I painted the words 'get out' above him; clear and to the point. Quickly I went upstairs and grabbed the doll. Seeing Ronnie sleeping gave me some peace, but there were matters I had to attend to. I hastily made my way back downstairs, putting the doll in the chair adjacent to where he was sleeping. Once done, I made my way back into my secret hiding and waited.

...

"Veronica!" Called father's voice. "VERONICA!" I shot upright. "Get down here, now!" I saw that the Brahms doll was missing. _**Oh shit.**_ I scrambled off of the bed and ran downstairs.

"Father...?" My voice trailed. My eyes fell on his shoes and I gagged upon seeing the dead, bloody rats. He turned from the pool table and rushed up to me, grabbing my arm, and dragging me further inside.

"What the fuck is that?!" He hissed. "Was that you?!" He pointed towards the wall where the words 'get out' were painted in blood.

"I didn't do it, father, I swear!" I claimed.

"Don't you fucking lie to me, you little whore!" I winced at his words. "How else could it get there?!" He got in my face. "No one else is here." He spat coldly. My eyes landed on the doll which was seated at the chair sitting across from the couch. His eyes followed mine before a snort left him. "You're going to blame a doll?" He turned towards me. "If you're going to lie to me, copil, be creative about it." He hissed. _**Well, 'ask and you shall receive', as they say.**_ I did ask for Brahms to help me, so I really should have seen this coming. I ran over to the doll. I lifted him and held him against me, as if to protect him from my father. "OK, I'll bite. Give me the doll." I shook my head defiantly. "Give me the fucking doll, Veronica."

"No." I refused before walking along the wall.

"Hand him over!" He grabbed me.

"No! Let go of me!" I yelled.

"If you don't give it to me, I swear - "

"It was me." I lied with a sob.

"Too late." He reached for Brahms.

"Ronnie!" Malcolm called. My eyes went wide. _**Malcolm.**_ That was the only distraction father needed. He grabbed Brahms from my arms and threw me onto the ground. I gripped my head and winced, only to find blood in my palm. My dazed eyes looked up to Malcolm weakly. "Get your things and get out of here!" He hollered. Father simply frowned.

"I'm not going anywhere." Malcolm's eyes fell on me.

"You alright?" I nodded vaguely.

"It was it you, wasn't it, you little shit?" He went in Malcolm's face, but his eyes were on me. "Or are you going to blame the doll, too?"

"What did Brahms do?" My eyes shifted to the wall where the literally bloody message was written.

"Father..." He turned to look at me, eyes burning with rage. "You don't understand - "

"I understand perfectly." He hissed.

"Give me the doll." Malcolm reached for the porcelain doll.

"What's so fucking special about this doll?!"

"Father, please..." I pleaded, once again on the verge of tears. He began to swing it around. "No, please." I begged. _**Don't take him from me, too.**_

"Fine." My nerves relaxed as father turned towards me. My moment of peace was ended the moment father smashed the doll against the chair Brahms had claimed previously.

"Brahms!" I called out before falling to the ground. My eyes went wide when I heard loud noises within the house around us.

"What the fuck is that?!" Father called. _**And this is why we DO NOT fuck with ghosts.**_ There were _bang_ ing and _crash_ ing noises in the walls.

"I think we need to leave..." Malcolm stated as calmly as he could, given the current circumstances anyway. _**You think?!**_ The lights flickered in-tune with the noises. _**We're fucked, aren't we?**_ Malcolm grabbed my hand and helped me up, holding me close. The noises stopped behind a mirror. My father, not being a superstitious man, approached the mirror, and put his head beside it. "We... We should really go." Malcolm stuttered.

"Shut the fuck up!" Father hushed before pressing his head against the reflective surface. Father's eyes darted in front of him. "There's something - " The mirror burst, sending my father hurdling towards the ground as shards went everywhere.

"Oh my gods..." My breath got caught in my throat.

"Ronnie?" Came the gentle little voice I came to know as Brahms'. My eyes focused on the broken mirror, noting that there was a hole in the wall behind it. _**W... Was that always there?**_ I wondered. __ _ **And if so, w... Why?**_ "Ronnie?" The voice was closer this time. From the hole in the wall outstretched an arm.

"Jesus, what is that?" Malcolm pushed me behind him as he took a step closer. Immediately after the arm's exit came the body of a full grown man. A man wearing a mask similar to the face the doll had; the only differences between the doll's face and the mask was that the mask was worn and pretty faded. Old, even. _**Is... Is that Brahms?**_


	11. Murder and Obsession

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**  
-I DO NOT own _The Boy_ , it's characters, or it's storyline. _The Boy_ was directed by William Brent Bell, and written by Stacey Daley. I DO NOT own any of the music featured in my fanfictions. The lyrics/music belongs to their respected artists. I DO NOT own _Outlast_ , _Outlast: Whistleblower_ , or it's characters Waylon Park and Eddie Gluskin/The Groom. _Outlast_ , _Outlast: Whistleblower_ , or it's characters Waylon Park and Eddie Gluskin/The Groom, and it's characters belong to Red Barrel. I DO own Veronica "Ronnie" Stone, her story, and her concept. I DO own the cover images to my fanfictions; be them edits or drawings. Be respectful to my art and edits, and DO NOT steal them.  
- _ **Bold-italic**_ phrases will indicate Ronnie's thoughts or the thoughts of others while in their point of view. _Italic_ phrases will indicate a sound being made.  Underlined phrases will indicate the title of a movie, TV show, etc. When you see "..." it means that the point-of-view has shifted.  
-The song representing the story is "The Phantom of the Opera" by Sarah Brightman and Michael Crawford from the _The Phantom of the Opera_ Broadway performance.

* * *

 **10.) Murder and Obsession  
** ***  
Sing once again with me, our strange duet. My power over you, grows stronger yet. You'll give your love to me, for love is blind. The phantom of the opera is now your mastermind.  
***

"What the fuck is THAT?!" Father exclaimed as he pushed himself away from the hovering form.

"It's Brahms." Malcolm said almost breathlessly. At this point, he was nearly out of the hole. As soon as he was out, we could see him clear as day. The real Brahms was a sight to behold, that's for sure. He was tall, clearly over six feet tall, and a mixture between lean and muscular. His hair was dark brown, nearly black, and a wavy mess a top of his head. Obviously, I couldn't see his face because of the mask, but I have no doubt that it had well aged beyond that of a child's. He wore a dark grey-green sweater over top of a dirty white muscle shirt, and his pants were a dark brown, if not black, pair of dress(ish?) pants.

"B... But..." I stuttered. _**HOW?**_ Father pushed himself off of the ground. Brahms' eyes darted from me, to Malcolm, then to father. _**Is he -**_ Before I could finish my thought, Brahms charged at my father.

"No!" Called Malcolm as he got between father and Brahms, however the man pushed him back, and slugged him three times in the head with a crowbar. As soon as Malcolm fell down, Brahms shifted gears and turned back towards us, and charged at father. My father called out as Brahms began to wrestle with him. Inside I was wanting to stop Brahms, but, at the same time, an even louder voice told me not to interfere. Brahms was attacking my father because I had asked him to. He began to hit him in the face repeatedly. I couldn't stand the sounds father's body made with every hit he took; every _crunch_ and _crack_. I grabbed onto Brahms' arm.

"Brahms, you have to stop." I begged. "He's an evil man, yes, and he isn't a father by any means, but I can't - " I grabbed onto his arm only to be pushed back. He must've been furious to be attacking him so relentlessly. But why? His hand held father's face against the carpet and he glanced around. _**What is he looking -**_ His eyes fell on the ruins of the porcelain doll's face. He grabbed a piece of it, it's nose and lips in tact. "No!" He swung his hand down and stuck the broken porcelain into father's neck, shoving the piece in as deep as he could. Father struggled to breathe as his eyes went bloodshot. Brahms' attention quickly landed on me. I shook my head. "Brahms, n... No..." He pushed up from my father's dead corpse and charged at me. I pushed myself off the ground only to be grabbed from behind. His strong arms wrapped around me, holding my arms in place as he began to drag me away from the scene. I would have found it flattering, if his grip wasn't causing me any pain. I heard a _thwack_ , and his grip on me was gone. Brahms collapsed to the ground beside me, and I was pulled away from him. The sudden jerk causing not only my shoulder to _crack_ but a gasp to leave my lips.

"We have to go!" Malcolm said as he pulled me away from Brahms. I couldn't run, so Malcolm just had to deal with dragging me, in a manner of speaking, which he didn't seem bothered by, as long as it got us away from Brahms. The only question I had was: _**Was he going to hurt me?**_ He seemed emotionally unstable, but, as I've said before, if he wanted to hurt me, why didn't he do it before? Why not when I was home alone? I mean, he killed father because I had asked him for his help. Hell, I basically begged him to. As we turned the corner, and Malcolm brought me towards the main door, Brahms stood there. _**How did he get here so fast?**_ We had just left him laying on the ground, not fifteen seconds ago. I had to hand it to Brahms, as twisted as it is: when he wants something, he goes for it. Like, holy shit. Then it hit me. _**Were in his domain. He knows this place better than any of us.**_ I bit my bottom lip in thought. "Fuck!" He turned around and pulled me once more, only this time up the stairs. He would stop on every floor to check on Brahms' whereabouts only to drag me along further, until we reached my room. He shut the door and locked it, immediately going to the phone and checking it. "It's dead." Malcolm moved to the window and began to fight with it, but it refused to budge. At this time, I had my right arm across my stomach, and left arm resting atop of it; my teeth nibbling at the top of my index finger in thought, as I thought about this from a horror movie perspective. _**It's cliche in horror movies to have the antagonist know how to get to and from point A to point B, be it explained or not.**_ For example, in the 2009  Friday the 13th film, it showed an underground mine-like place under Camp Crystal Lake, which allowed Jason to quickly arrive on location, with the assistance of bells. Same thing with Jacob Goodnight in See no Evil. "Dammit!" He exclaimed. I heard footsteps outside of the door, and saw the shadow of them underneath. Then came the _squeak_ ing of the un-oiled doorknob, which caused me to cringe, and then there was the _bang_ ing of him trying to force his way into the room. He was relentless, to say the least, but then stopped. This was another horror movie cliche. If I knew my horror genre as I'd like to think I do, Brahms was either A, trying to lure us out, or B, find a different way in. Through the walls, we heard the _creak_ ing. We followed the noise, then it was proven that A was his choice. "The closet!" Malcolm called and, as we stood outside of it, there he was. He used as much weight as he could to hold the door closed while I just stood there.

"Mal - " I was about to tell Malcolm to just let him have me, save us anymore unnecessary bloodshed, but then Brahms' arm broke through the wood. Malcolm pushed me further away from the door, to keep Brahms' hand from grabbing at me, and went to grab the phone, hitting Brahms in the face as soon as the door was open enough. Once more, Malcolm grabbed hold of my hand and dragged me away. I stopped at the door as Malcolm fought with getting the key out. "Malcolm..." He glanced at me as he tugged at the key. "Just... Just let him have me."

"No." Was all he said before he finally got the key out and the door open. We heard him in the walls again, but Malcolm was focused, and lead us into the Heelshire's room. "Where's the key?!"

"I don't know, I can't see anything, Malcolm!" The obvious statement was obvious since the lights weren't on.

"There!" He lead me to a corridor entrance. We knelt down and lead me into it. Low and behold, we were in the walls. _**And there is the answer to 'how does he get around'.**_ I thought with a sigh. Behind us was the sound of the bedroom door _slam_ ming open. "Come on!" Malcolm allowed me to pass only to close the corridor's door. I scoffed at this. _**I can guarantee that there are more entrances to the corridors than this one.**_ The only problem was I didn't know where. It made sense, though, since Brahms would move the doll around at different points, and they weren't always in the same places. I may know my horror movies, guys, but that doesn't mean I'm psychic. I felt Malcolm's hand on my back.

"We can only go up." I informed as I looked back at him.

"Go on then." He assured with a weak smile. _**Why couldn't he just give me to Brahms?**_ I mean, he could let Malcolm go in exchange for me. Wait. No, he wouldn't. He's a witness. They never leave witnesses. I let loose a heavy sigh and climbed up along the crowded stairway. We made our way through the walls and he would stop to feel for an exit. Even if he did find an exit, if we could hear Brahms in the walls, what makes him think Brahms can't hear us? He maneuvered around me and found a door flap. With no effort, he opened it to reveal a small living nook. "Jesus Christ." There were scattered appliances - including a fridge/freezer and microwave - vague lighting from the shade-less lamps, a sink with a mirror above it, a book shelf, and a coat hanger. "It's got everything you'd need."

"He's been living here..." My eyes softened. _**He's been here all alone... I mean, yeah, he's had his parents, but they've had the doll.**_

"I'm gonna find a way out." Malcolm said as he weaved past the stairway. I walked in further, only to stop in my tracks. My understanding left and it was replaced by shock. I would be lying if I didn't feel disturbed and bothered, and rather upset. It wasn't the bed that had be feeling nauseous, it was the stuffed leather doll on the bed. It wore the dress that had gone missing, and had tufts of my hair sewn in place.

"It's me..." My eyes drifted to something that caught my eye. Hanging from the bed post was my mother's rosary. Then I saw something even more disturbing than the doll. Above the bedpost my name, both 'Ronnie' and 'Veronica', was engraved into the wall, as if it was the scribbles of a madman. "Why... Why would he do this?" I hugged my arms and rubbed them hoping to ease the goosebumps.

"Ronnie!"

"What does he want from me?" I gripped my short hair. I turned and found something that completely shot my nerves. On the table beside his bed was a letter. I picked it up and read it:  
'Our Dearest Son,  
Words cannot describe our heartbreak as we leave you now.  
We will not be back. We simply cannot bare to live with what we have allowed you to become.  
The girl is yours now. She is yours to love and care for now.  
May God forgive us all.  
Love,  
Mummy and Daddy'  
I reread the words 'we will not be back' over and over. Then it hit me. _**They left me here with him, knowing what he's done and what he's capable of.**_ Then it hit me: _**Did they... Did they off themselves?**_ I was completely unprepared for this. I was not only someone left in charge of caring for Brahms, but now, thanks to the letter, I was an object that could be possessed and obsessed over. I felt like I was going mad. _**What the FUCK?!**_

"Hey, come on." Malcolm rushed as he came up behind me. "This way, come on!" I dragged my feet as I followed him up the staircase. He grabbed the letter from my hands, drawing me back into reality. "Over here." He lead me to a hole in the wall that revealed a ladder. "I think it goes down all the way." He allowed me to climb in first, and we both made our way down. With the slotted walls, it seemed like I was Waylon Park in the Outlast downloadable content - DLC - Whistleblower, when he was avoiding the variant who would later lead him to The Groom, Eddie Gluskin. Honestly, I felt like him too. Gluskin had this delusion about marrying a woman who can bare him children. Bare in mind, people, that the game takes place in an asylum. Full of men. So, there weren't any women. So, what does he do? He makes them. I'll leave that to your imagination, unless you want to look up a gameplay of it on Youtube; I recommend Markiplier or PewDiePie. I looked through the slots, and, currently, I was looking into the living room. Father's dead, motionless corpse still on the ground. Blood coming from the wound. I felt myself jump when Brahms walked past, Malcolm's hand went around my mouth, just in case, since I was already freaked the fuck out. Now, with that ordeal, I didn't know if it was wise to be left with Brahms. What if Brahms was just like Gluskin? What if he wants someone to control and use to fulfill his depraved fantasies, but will kill them if they break his crazed delusion? _**What have I gotten myself into?!**_


	12. How do I Escape?

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**  
-I DO NOT own _The Boy_ , it's characters, or it's storyline. _The Boy_ was directed by William Brent Bell, and written by Stacey Daley. I DO NOT own any of the music featured in my fanfictions. The lyrics/music belongs to their respected artists. I DO own Veronica "Ronnie" Stone, her story, and her concept. I DO own the cover images to my fanfictions; be them edits or drawings. Be respectful to my art and edits, and DO NOT steal them.  
- _ **Bold-italic**_ phrases will indicate Ronnie's thoughts or the thoughts of others while in their point of view. _Italic_ phrases will indicate a sound being made.  Underlined phrases will indicate the title of a movie, TV show, etc. When you see "..." it means that the point-of-view has shifted.  
-The song representing the story is "The Phantom of the Opera" by Sarah Brightman and Michael Crawford from the _The Phantom of the Opera_ Broadway performance.  
-In this chapter, and the next, you will see even more differences between Greta and Ronnie, more than what has already been proven, and the difference between how I would do things, personally, and what the movie had done.

* * *

 **11.) How do I Escape?  
** ***  
Sing once again with me, our strange duet. My power over you, grows stronger yet. You'll give your love to me, for love is blind. The phantom of the opera is now your mastermind.  
***

Moments passed and the house was still, that was until the wall behind us _crash_ ed, as Brahms whacked at it with the crowbar. Admittedly, I shrieked. _**We f**_ _ **ucking fell for it!**_ The cliche of the horror icon tricking their pray into thinking they're safe, only to appear from behind. _**God. Fucking. Dammit!**_ I mentally cursed at my own stupidity. "Go!" Malcolm pushed me on, following the tracks we had taken. We stopped at the hole we exited from, only to keep going, down through a different corridor. I was on edge now, paranoid even. _**He'll break through any moment now.**_ And, like clockwork, Brahms _crash_ ed through the wall, toppling the three of us onto the ground. "Go, Ronnie!" Malcolm pushed on my back, encouraging me, with force, to get up and keep running. I didn't hesitate; I pushed myself up and ran. We came to the end of the hallway. To our left was a way out. "Yeah." He put his hand on my back and gave me a gentle push. "Yeah, a way out. Go!" I ran and stopped at a pipe. I crouched down and climbed under it. I could see through the slits on the door that it lead to the forest. I reached the door and pushed on it.

"It's locked!" I cried. I kept pushing against it, hoping to dislodge it, but the door wasn't having any of that. It stood and resisted my force.

"Open it, Ronnie!"

"I'm trying, god dammit!" I hollered in response. "It's shut tight, OK?!" I pushed harder against it. My eyes fell on Malcolm; his attention was down the hallway. "What are you doing?!"

"He's coming." He stated relatively calmly.

"And you expected otherwise?" I barked sarcastically. "Have you seen a fucking horror movie before?" I moved away from the door. "I am not leaving you behind, do you understand me? We've gone through this shit together, we're getting out of it together." I glared, though it wasn't aimed at him, but for the thought of me leaving him behind. _**I'm not going to do that, whether he wants me to or not.**_ I thought with a snort.

"Just go!"

"Fuck that!" I fought back.

"Go!" And with that yelled at me, he ran towards the hallway.

"You fucking asshole!" I cried in frustration.

"Come on." He said as he came to a halt at the entry way. "Come on!" When Brahms knocked to Malcolm to the ground, I saw the reflection of the knife in Malcolm's hand. _**Well, at least he's got something.**_ Not that it'd do him any good. Brahms clearly knew what he was doing. How? I don't know, but he did. Brahms sat on Malcolm's abdomen, then proceeded to grab hold of his shirt and lift his upper body, only to crash it down. He was about to do it again, until Malcolm swiped the knife at him. Brahms reached beside him and grabbed the crowbar, holding it above him, and ready to strike. He struck him three times, and regardless of his arms being up, Brahms subdued Malcolm.

"No!" I called as my hands gripped at my hair. Brahms' attention left Malcolm as he looked towards me, sitting up fully, and watching me between the pipes. I was still, like a doe in the headlights of a car. I didn't know what to do.

"Ronnie..." The voice I came to know as the little boy's echoed behind his mask. "Come back." I clutched the frame of the door that my back was pushed against. His breathing became heavy. "I'll be good..." He pleaded. The little boy's voice was no longer that; his matured voice rung through. "I will." He nodded. I tilted my head, but then the thought from before crept in my mind: if I stayed, if I let him have me, there's a chance I'd end up as a doll, dead and to be used for his gratification. Whatever that may be. A shiver shook my body. "Ronnie." I shook my head.

"No, Brahms..." I kicked away from him and pushed against the door once more.

"Get back here." I could hear the patience he had was nearly gone. _**He's as temperamental as Gluskin!**_ The thought added to the subconscious thought that they were not so different. Again, the door refused to give in. I began to whimper as I _bang_ ed against the door. "Get back here!" He demanded. I shut my eyes. "Don't leave me!" I gave the door one final push, with all the strength I could, and managed to crack the door open. "You get back here!" I pulled myself through the vague opening. I got out and pressed myself against the brick of the mansion. "If you leave, I'll kill him!" My heart sank. "I'll kill him like the others!" My heart then seemed to stop beating. _**O... Others?**_ My blood ran cold. _**I guess that confirms Emily Cribbs' death, but who else has he killed?**_ I pressed myself as hard as I could against the stone as I saw him peek his head out of the crack of the door. "Dammit." He cursed beneath his breath. _**Should... Should I just give myself up and let him have me? And, more importantly, would he be willing to let Malcolm go if I asked him to?**_ Before this situation tonight, Brahms was very well behaved, ghost or not. I bit my bottom lip in thought, my eyes scanning the forest. _**What the hell do I do?**_


	13. Compromise

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**  
-I DO NOT own _The Boy_ , it's characters, or it's storyline. _The Boy_ was directed by William Brent Bell, and written by Stacey Daley. I DO NOT own any of the music featured in my fanfictions. The lyrics/music belongs to their respected artists. I DO own Veronica "Ronnie" Stone, her story, and her concept. I DO own the cover images to my fanfictions; be them edits or drawings. Be respectful to my art and edits, and DO NOT steal them.  
- _ **Bold-italic**_ phrases will indicate Ronnie's thoughts or the thoughts of others while in their point of view. _Italic_ phrases will indicate a sound being made.  Underlined phrases will indicate the title of a movie, TV show, etc. When you see "..." it means that the point-of-view has shifted.  
-The song representing the story is "The Phantom of the Opera" by Sarah Brightman and Michael Crawford from the _The Phantom of the Opera_ Broadway performance.  
-In this chapter, you will see even more differences between Greta and Ronnie, more than what has already been proven, and the difference between how I would do things, personally, and what the movie had done.

* * *

 **12.) Compromise  
** ***  
Sing once again with me, our strange duet. My power over you, grows stronger yet. You'll give your love to me, for love is blind. The phantom of the opera is now your mastermind.  
***

I had made my decision. Before Brahms retreated back into the corridor entry, I grabbed his hand gently. This caused him to jump and pull away from me ever-so-slightly. I crouched down and met his eyes. "I'm here, Brahms." I said with a weak smile. "I said I'd stay here." His eyes locked on mine. "I only ran 'cause I was afraid." I spoke honestly. "You saved me from my father, like I had asked, but the way you went about it..." My eyes narrowed solemnly. "It was brash, Brahms. And then, you attacked Malcolm, and chased us all around the house." I searched his eyes. "That scared me." I took a calming breath. "It's time for bed, Brahms. It's past your bedtime." He pulled back, causing me to fall in. I felt awkward as my face was inches from his mask. _**If he was Jason Voorhees, his machete would be using me as a human sheath right about now.**_ I glanced away to avoid making this more awkward and uncomfortable than it already as it was. "Come on." However, he didn't budge. Instead, he sat there with me slightly leaning over him, and breathing deeply. My face flushed when I realized he wasn't just breathing, he was inhaling. Smelling. "Bed. Now. We have a schedule." I forced myself to sound stronger than I was currently feeling. He jumped at my tone and nodded. He pulled himself from beneath me and walked, head down, through the corridors, and to his living nook. I walked past him and pulled back the blankets for him. "Ready?" He nodded before standing in front of me; he was an obvious foot or so taller than me with the way he hung over me. His mask tilted down, with his head. Once more, he was taking in my scent. I cleared my throat to break the moment of awkwardness. He walked around me and sat on the bed and looked towards me. I forced a smile. "Under the blankets, so you can stay warm." He kicked off his shoes and eased himself into a laying position. Aside from the situation that lead to this, and the fact that I was dealing with a human - no, a man - it wasn't THAT different from what I did before; tucking him in and such. I felt uneasy having his eyes watch me as I tucked him in, though. "Be a good boy, Brahms." My eyes met his. _**What's he -**_

"Kiss." He said gently from beneath his mask. Seems he struggled to re-obtain his childish voice after he had broke his facade. _**Oh...**_

"Sorry, Brahms, but you didn't behave very well tonight." I pulled away from him. "Good night." I smiled and turned to leave, only to have him grab my wrist with a grown man's strength.

"Kiss." He requested again, giving my wrist a squeeze.

"Alright, Brahms." I smiled vaguely. I turned and leaned over, he eased back a bit. My hands trembled, and my breathing hitched, as my face got closer to the mask. I felt him place his left hand on my right arm, and his right hand fell on the left side of my neck. My lips made contact with the mask's lips, and I simply shut my eyes. This whole ordeal was fucked up, OK?! And I was still scared from everything that's happened. _**At least when he falls asleep, I can take care of Malcolm...**_ Before I could pull away, Brahms' mask's pressed against my lips, and his hold on me got stronger as he held me against him. This wasn't a boy I was dealing with, I was dealing with a man; a man who never learned how to cope with puberty, hormones, and all the fuck shit that goes with it. My eyes were wide, but I didn't pull away in fear that it would arise the anger he's capable of expressing. His hands left their location and began to travel elsewhere, though they trembled. It was as though he didn't know what he was doing; he was acting on confused instinct. In my mind played scenes with my father's wandering hands on my body, and immediately gripped Brahms' hands. He tilted his head. "N... No more of that." My breath was rigid from the haunting memories. Did I mention I have PTSD, and that it keeps me from having any intimate encounters? Not that I've had a boyfriend to speak of, but still. I lifted my lips and kissed the forehead of the mask, and pulled my body away from his while slowly, yet gently, releasing his hands. "Good night, Brahms." I managed to say after catching my breath. I stood and smiled down at him. "Sweet dreams." I turned to leave only to have him grab my wrist again.

"Stay..." Came the voice he gave when his facade broke a while ago. My body became stiff.

"That's not proper." I said as calmly as I could. "I'm not your mother." I had to refrain from saying 'nor your lover' since, in a twisted, fucked up kind of way, he thought I was, or at least that I was his to do with what he wanted; no thanks to the letter his parents addressed to him. Once again he tightened his grip.

"Stay." I turned and looked at him.

"Why?" I couldn't bite that back. I shut my eyes and was on the verge of tears. The bed _creak_ ed and, before I knew it, a strong pair of arms wrapped around me, and I had found myself in Brahms' lap. He held me tightly to his body, and began to run his fingers through my hair while humming Brahms' Lullaby. I stared, wide eyed, to the wall adjacent from me. _**B... Brahms?**_

"Sh..." He cooed in my ear as soon as he ceased the melody.

"Brahms..." I pulled away slightly. "I need to check on Malcolm." His grip turned violent, which caused me to yelp. "I just need to make sure he's OK." I flinched hearing his knuckles _crack_ behind me. "I promise I'll come back." I searched his eyes. "He's the only friend I have left..." I could tell that he was unhappy about my request, but his seething did seem to ease up before his grip loosened. "Please." I pulled my arm free and placed my hand on the side of his mask.

"Go." His voice sound disheartened, but he unlocked his arms from around me. I smiled vaguely at him.

"Than - "

"If he tries to take you again... I'll kill him." My smile dropped but nodded before climbing off of him, and running up the stairs, climbing down the ladder, and running through the hallways. Malcolm was on the ground slowly regaining consciousness. There was a massive bruise on the right side of the face, as well as a bit of blood.

"Ugh..." He groaned as he gripped his head. I ran over to him. "Ronnie?" I nodded and helped him up. His pained demeanor shifted to a stressful one. "W... Where is he? Where the fuck - " I placed my finger against his lips. His eyes looked at me questionably but I simply shook my head.

"You need to leave." I whispered. "If I stay, you leave. Alive."

"Fuck that!" He spat. "We're leaving." He grabbed my wrist and pulled only to meet resistance.

"No. That was the compromise." I locked eyes with him. "Go, while he's giving you the chance." I nodded with a weak smile.

"Not without you."

"If you stay, he'll kill you for sure." I commented while shutting my eyes. "You're the only friend I have left in this world, don't let me watch you die because you want to be stubborn." I was on the verge of tears once again. _**I... I can't lose anyone else. Not of the few people I have left.**_ "Please..." I begged. Malcolm's brown eyes searched my teary light blue ones.

"Why do you have to make that sacrifice?"

"Because he wants me. Has since day one." I lifted my hands to my eyes and rubbed the tears away. "Please, just go."

"And what, forget you? Not going to happen." He said with a huff.

"I may be horrified when it comes to him and what he's capable of, but at least he's letting you live while the opportunity is present. I'm willing to 'take one for the team', as they say." I held his face in my hands. "Malcolm... Please. Do this for me." Our eyes danced, and then he let out a sigh.

"Fine. But I'm coming back for you."

"You do, you die." Came Brahms' matured voice from behind me. He hit the crowbar into his palm warningly.

"We'll still need groceries once in awhile, Brahms..." His raging eyes fell on me. He knew I was right, since there's only so much food in the kitchen.

"How do I know you won't kill her like you did Emily?" I hit my face against my palm; I believe people refer to it as 'facepalming'? _**You idiot.**_ Was he trying to piss him off? 'Cause if he was, he's doing a banging job.

"She was going to leave me." Brahms answered bitterly. His eyes fell on me. "Ronnie won't." I looked back at him; his tensed muscles were slowly relaxing. "Go now." I looked over to Malcolm and nodded with a solemn smile.

"If you hurt her, I swear - "

"Go." Hissed Brahms as he took a step towards Malcolm, his hand clenching the crowbar. Malcolm jumped. I helped him up carefully, allowing him to use my body as support. Once he seemed stable, I took a step away to see how his strength was. He seemed better.

"Can you walk?" I asked carefully and winced while looking back at Brahms, making sure I didn't step on a trigger. He just watched us carefully, unmoving.

"Yeah..." I turned my attention back towards Malcolm. "Be careful, yeah? If you need anything, I'll be a ring away." His subtle hint didn't fly over Brahms head. How do I know? A growl left his lips, as if to warn Malcolm. I nodded.

"You too." Another growl left Brahms when Malcolm hugged me. "Friends hug, Brahms." I lectured. Malcolm pulled away and went towards the exit that lead to this situation. He turned back and looked at us before leaving. **_Don't do anything stupid, Malcolm._**


End file.
